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carnalcrows · 17 hours ago

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The one with the Scandal

pariring: rockstar! male OC x male reader [profile]

summary: You’re not dating him. You don’t even like him like that. He’s younger. He’s your job. He’s also apparently into fixing your collar, looking at you like you’re his, and letting the entire fanbase run with it. You’re just trying to not get fired. He’s making it really hard.

content warnings: 18+, idol/manager dynamic, bottom male reader, Jiho is younger but he is in control, reader is spiraling professionally but holding it together (barely), scandal via leaked video, yandere tendencies if you squint, oral (reader receiving), Jiho calls the reader Hyung someone is watching. also: subtle HR violations and bad decisions made in very quiet hallways.

word count: 3.1k

White Eclipse’s manager's job description didn’t include “babysit rockstars,” but here you were at 6:47 a.m., standing outside the dorm in socks, trying to get a key card to work while someone inside was blasting what could only be described as sad trap piano.

You didn’t bother knocking. They never heard it anyway.

The door opened a beat later—Jiho, hoodie half-on, eyes still sleepy, holding a toothbrush like it was a weapon.

“Oh,” he said, voice rough. “Thought you were food.”

You blinked. “It’s me.”

He nodded. “Right.”

Then he just… stepped aside to let you in.

No apology. No explanation.

You used to be surprised by things like that. Not anymore. It’d been seven months since you took over as White Eclipse’s full-time manager. Seven months of group chats at 2 a.m., misplaced earrings, broken in-rooms, passive-aggressive silence in makeup chairs. You were barely keeping the group running. You didn’t have energy left for things like normal boundaries.

Jiho wandered back down the hall. You followed, because your job required it. Not to hover, just to check the morning schedule—radio taping, press call, one-on-one interview for Juhwan. Makeup in twenty.

“You slept?” you asked, mostly to check.

Jiho shrugged. “Eventually.”

“Eat something before we go.”

He didn’t answer, which usually meant no.

You sighed, already noting it down in the log.

⋆｡°✩

The van ride was quiet, except for Doyun humming aggressively off-key to a song no one else liked. You were seated up front, checking your tablet, trying to remember if anyone had confirmed Jiho’s brand outfit for the shoot. You didn’t hear him move until he leaned forward between the seats.

“Hyung,” he said. His breath ghosted the side of your neck, too close.

You didn’t flinch, but your fingers stilled.

“Yes?”

“You left your charger last time.”

He held it out—your USB-C cable, neatly wrapped.

You blinked. “You… kept it?”

He gave a half-shrug. “Figured you’d come back for it eventually.”

Then sat back like nothing happened.

You turned toward the window. The city rolled by in silence. You didn’t say thank you.

You weren’t sure you wanted to know what else he was keeping track of.

⋆｡°✩

The radio taping was delayed by forty minutes. Not that anyone told you until you were already standing in the green room, watching the stylist re-iron Taeyang’s shirt while Juhwan paced like he was on trial.

You were half-listening to a PD explain the new segment structure when Jiho appeared beside you again—like he always did, like gravity.

He didn’t say anything. Just handed you a bottle of water.

You took it automatically.

A few seconds passed before you glanced over.

“…This isn’t mine,” you said.

“It’s cold,” he replied. “You like it that way.”

You blinked, unsure how to respond to that.

He didn’t stick around for a reaction—just walked back to the couch and sat, legs crossed, earbuds in, expression unreadable as ever. Like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t just said something small and specific enough to stick in your brain like a splinter.

You told yourself it was normal. He probably remembered from a post-schedule snack run. He was observant. That was all.

It didn’t mean anything.

But when the boys were being ushered into the booth, he lingered again.

Waited until the others were out of earshot.

Then said, “You looked tired yesterday.”

Your hand paused on the equipment list.

“…That’s not part of your job description.”

Jiho gave a half-smile. Small. Secret.

“Neither’s remembering your charger.”

You didn’t smile back.

You wanted to.

You didn’t.

⋆｡°✩

That night, you stayed at the company building longer than you meant to. Not unusual—schedules had to be reshuffled, the stylists were panicking about a delivery delay, and someone had somehow misplaced two of Doyun’s in-ear backups despite the fact that you’d personally labelled them in obnoxiously bold font last week.

By the time you packed your bag, the halls were half-dark and the lights in the vocal practice room were still on.

You almost didn’t look.

You almost walked straight past.

But you didn’t.

Jiho was there. Again.

Seated on the floor, guitar in his lap, hoodie sleeves pushed up. His face was lit only by the screen of his phone, and he looked so relaxed—so out of uniform—that it threw you off for a second.

He didn’t see you right away. But the second you stepped into the room; his fingers stilled on the frets.

He looked up. And didn’t look away.

“…You live here now?” you asked dryly, trying not to let your voice give anything away.

“Only if you do,” he said, which wasn’t funny, but it made your mouth twitch anyway.

You sat on the bench near the wall, just to rest for a minute. Just to breathe.

Jiho shifted slightly, setting his guitar down.

“They let you have solo schedules today?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Temporary probation.”

He hummed. “For what?”

You gave him a look. “You really want me to spell it out?”

“I want to know what they think happened.”

His tone wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t particularly curious, either. Just steady. Like he was testing something.

You didn’t answer.

He stood slowly and crossed the room, not close, not quite, but just enough that the air changed.

“I know what I felt Hyung,” he said.

Your jaw tightened. “You can’t say stuff like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m your manager.”

He smiled, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Not lately.”

That sat in the space between you, heavy and uncomfortable and true.

You stood up, suddenly. Bag over your shoulder. Shoes already pointed toward the door.

Jiho didn’t stop you. Didn’t move. Just said, quiet and sure,

“Then what are you still doing here?”

⋆｡°✩

You’re already at the studio before the sun finishes rising, two iced Americanos in hand, and neither of them are for you.

The schedule’s stacked—two back-to-back interviews, followed by a commercial shoot, and then a fitting for a brand collab you only got confirmation for at midnight. You don’t even realise you’ve been typing out emails with your neck tilted and your jaw clenched until someone passes behind you and mutters, “Hyung, you’re gonna shatter your teeth.”

It’s Doyun.

You don’t respond. Just hand him one of the coffees and tell him to finish it before makeup.

Jiho’s the last one out of the van when you arrive at the venue. Hoodie up, expression blank, one earbud in. He doesn’t speak until the others have wandered off in different directions. You’re halfway to the front doors, double-checking a logistics note, when he suddenly says behind you, “You forgot your charger... again.”

You stop walking.

“I didn’t.”

He holds it up anyway. Neatly wrapped. Slightly warm, like he kept it in his pocket.

“Don’t leave your stuff around if you don’t want me touching it,” he adds.

It’s not flirtatious. Not playful.

Just a little… too direct.

You take it from him without meeting his eyes.

By the time the day wraps, you’ve been on your feet for nearly eleven hours, you’re starving, and you’ve answered the same three questions from the same sponsor rep three separate times.

You’re in the back hallway finishing a call when the door beside you creaks open.

Jiho again.

Of course.

He doesn’t say anything. Just leans against the wall next to you, close enough that your shoulders almost touch.

“Is there a reason you’ve been following me around like a ghost today?” you ask, keeping your voice flat.

“Maybe.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re not subtle.”

“I’m not trying to be.”

There’s a beat of silence between you.

“You know they’re already watching,” you say quietly. “Even if nothing happens.”

He shrugs. “Then let them.”

You stare straight ahead. If you look at him now, you might say something you can’t take back.

He leaves without another word.

⋆｡°✩

It starts the next morning, before you’re even fully awake.

Your phone lights up with a buzz sharp enough to break through sleep, and the notification preview makes your blood run cold.

You don’t open it at first. You already know what it is.

You sit up in bed, screen half-lit, and there it is: A video.

Low-res, muted, zoomed in from somewhere behind the practice room window. You, standing in front of Jiho. Him, fixing your collar like he’s done it a hundred times before. You, frozen. Him, looking at you like no one else exists.

It’s only ten seconds. But that’s all it takes.

WHO is that? he looks like STAFF??? That’s the manager hyung. I’ve seen him in airport vids. They’re so domestic, what the hell 😭😭 The way he looks at him, oh my god, he’s SO GONE idc if it’s fake, this is the best ship in K-pop rn

You can’t breathe.

The DMs are already coming in. Three calls from PR. One from someone in legal. Your group chat with the other managers is blowing up, and your name is already trending.

You close the app. Open your notes app. Start typing an apology that no one’s asked for yet.

Then you stop. Because your phone buzzes again.

Jiho.

A single text.

[ come up to the roof.]

You stare at it.

Ignore it.

Then, against your better judgment, you go.

⋆｡°✩

The rooftop is quieter than you remember.

It’s probably not even technically accessible—some intern left the door propped open during a late-night smoke break once, and now everyone pretends it’s still locked. You used to come up here alone. That was before. Before the video. Before the call from PR. Before your name started appearing in the trending bar.

Now Jiho’s already here, hoodie sleeves bunched up to his elbows, fingers curled around a can of grape soda that’s starting to sweat through the aluminium. He looks like he hasn’t moved in an hour. Like this isn’t the first time he’s sat here, waiting for you.

You shut the door behind you.

He doesn’t turn to look at you immediately. Just nods toward the railing beside him.

You don’t sit.

“You saw it?” you ask.

He hums in response. You’re not sure if that’s a yes or a who hasn’t?

“You’re not panicking.”

He finally turns. There’s no smile. No bite. Just his usual unreadable calm.

“Should I be?”

You almost laugh, sharp and humourless. “This isn’t a joke.”

“I know.”

He tosses the soda can into the nearby bin without looking. Deadcentrer.

You cross your arms. “They’re going to kill this. Quietly. I’m already off the schedule for next week.”

“I noticed.”

You expect a flicker of regret. Frustration. Some trace of guilt.

You get none.

Instead, Jiho steps closer—not aggressive, just deliberate. There’s no camera up here. No PR team. No lighting cues or stylists, or handlers. Just him. Just you.

“They think we’re together,” he says, voice low.

You don’t answer.

“Maybe we should be.”

You look away. “Don’t do this.”

“Do what, Hyung?”

“Say things you can’t take back.”

He’s close enough now that you can feel the warmth from his body—his chest rising slowly, steadily. He doesn’t try to touch you. That would be too easy. Too obvious. Instead, he just stands there like gravity, like inevitability.

“I’ve been waiting for something to break,” he says, quieter now. “I just didn’t think it’d be a ten-second clip.”

You inhale through your nose. Try to stay steady.

“I’m older than you,” you say.

“So?”

“I’m your manager.”

He leans in—not touching, not yet.

“Not today.”

The silence between you hangs, taut and electric.

Then you walk away.

You don’t run.

But you don’t look back.

⋆｡°✩

You don’t answer his messages after that.

Not because you don’t want to. You just don’t trust yourself to say something that won’t get screenshotted and sent to HR. You spend the rest of the day buried in logistics—flipping through updated schedules, emailing photographers, pretending your phone isn’t buzzing every hour with a new article, a new fan edit, a new speculative thread. You don’t see Jiho for the rest of the day, and you let yourself believe maybe that rooftop conversation didn’t mean anything.

Then he shows up at your apartment.

It’s late—past midnight. You’re wearing an old shirt and mismatched socks, half-asleep, when the intercom buzzes. You think it’s a food delivery at first. You didn’t order anything. But when you answer, all you hear is—

“Hyung— It’s me.”

You don’t open the door right away. You hesitate. Long enough to consider what this will mean if you do.

But when you finally unlock it, he’s standing there. Hoodie off. Cap gone. Just Jiho—his real face, glasses slightly fogged from the night air. He looks calm. Like he’s been here before.

You don’t ask him why he came. You don’t need to.

He steps inside like he’s done it before, like this is normal— hoodie slung over one shoulder, hair pushed back messily from his face. He looks like he belongs here, even though you’ve never invited him in, not really. You tell yourself you’re only letting this happen because you’re exhausted. Because there’s no one else around. Because you’ve already been dragged into the narrative, so what’s one more mistake?

But you know better.

You always have.

You lock the door behind him and turn to find him watching you like he’s memorising something.

“You always leave it open when you’re nervous,” he says.

You blink. “What?”

“The collar. You don’t button the top one. You fidget with it when you’re trying not to look at me.”

You don’t say anything. There’s nothing to say.

Jiho walks past you—through the short hallway, into the living room, casual like he’s heading for the kitchen. He doesn’t. He stops at the edge of the couch and looks back.

“You gonna keep pretending?”

You cross your arms defensively. “Pretending what?”

“That you don’t want me to stay.”

That lands harder than you expect. Not because he’s wrong. But because you’ve been trying so hard to keep that exact thing from showing on your face for weeks.

And maybe you haven’t been as successful as you thought.

When you don’t answer, he turns fully. Walks up to you slowly, deliberately, until the heat from his body reaches your chest and you have nowhere else to go.

He touches the collar of your shirt. Just the fabric. No skin. Yet.

“You should stop wearing this,” he murmurs.

“Why?”

“Because I want to take it off.”

Your breath catches. He hears it. You know he does.

Then, carefully, he undoes the top button. Then the next. You don’t stop him.

“You’re shaking,” he says softly.

You didn’t even realize.

“I—Jiho, this is—”

“Too late.”

He steps forward. Presses his mouth to yours—once, slow and sure. He doesn’t rush it. Doesn’t push. But there’s heat behind it. Control. Like he’s waited long enough, and he’s not going to let you talk your way out of it now.

You kiss him back.

⋆｡°✩

He leads you to the bedroom without speaking, only touching you where he needs to—your wrist, your hip, the small of your back. You sit on the edge of the bed, and he kneels without hesitation, hands sliding up your thighs, eyes locked on yours.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he tells you. “But you don’t get to lie to me either.”

You nod.

That’s all he needs.

Jiho peels your pants down with practised fingers, pushing them past your hips, then your briefs. You’re already half-hard, pulse thudding like your body’s already a step ahead of your thoughts.

He leans in. Licks a slow stripe up the underside of your cock.

Your hands twitch at your sides. You don’t touch him. Not yet.

He doesn’t look up when he takes you into his mouth. Just sinks down, slow and steady, jaw relaxed like he’s done this a dozen times—maybe not for anyone else, but in his head, you’re sure he’s thought about it. Over and over.

His tongue presses firmly along the base. His lips seal around you, and he moans—soft, like it’s for him, not you. The vibration makes your knees buckle.

He takes his time. Pulls off to suck at the head, just enough to make you gasp. Then down again—deeper, sloppier now, until your cock hits the back of his throat and he still doesn’t stop.

You manage his name. Once. Barely.

His hands grip your thighs, firm and steady, keeping you in place. He sucks you down again and again, never breaking eye contact, never faltering. He wants you to watch. To know exactly how far he’s willing to go.

When you start to lose control—hips stuttering, breath slipping—he only tightens his hold and hums around you again. That pushes you over.

You come with a choked breath, your hand in his hair, every nerve lit up. He doesn’t pull back. Doesn’t spill a drop.

When it’s done, when your heart’s still racing and your fingers are trembling, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand like it’s nothing.

Then he leans in again, not to kiss you, but just to speak.

Voice low. Calm. Possessive.

“Next time,” he murmurs, “you’re going to beg for it.”

⋆｡°✩

You wake up before your alarm.

The light in your bedroom is pale, soft, barely filtered through your blinds. The air is cool against your skin, your sheets kicked halfway off the bed, your body still aching in that strange, satisfying way. Not sore. Just… used. Thoroughly.

Jiho is still asleep beside you.

His hand is curled against the pillow, palm up, fingers relaxed like he has nothing left to chase. His mouth is parted slightly. His hair’s a mess. One leg is tangled with yours beneath the blanket.

You lie there for a moment, still and quiet.

You don’t know what time he fell asleep. You don’t know if he meant to stay. You don’t even know if he thinks this was a one-time thing or the start of something. You should care.

You do care.

You just don’t know what to do with it yet.

Eventually, you get up. Carefully. Quietly.

You don’t leave the room, just stand near the doorway, shirt half-on, trying to figure out what you’re supposed to feel. It doesn’t feel like a victory. Or relief. It just feels inevitable.

You reach for your phone out of habit. You’ve got two unread messages.

One from your replacement manager, asking if you’re available for a rescheduled meeting later in the week.

And one from an unknown number.

[hope you enjoyed last night. This is just the beginning.]

No context. No name. But your stomach drops anyway.

You read it again.

And again.

Behind you, Jiho shifts in the sheets.

You don’t turn around.

Not yet.

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valeisaslut · 3 months ago

Text

⭒࿐COLLIDE - c. two

credits for the fanart: nramvv - edited by me

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐖𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄

𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄.

← 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛𝑒 | 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 | 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑒 →

⚢ pairing: Rockstar!Ellie Williams x Popstar!Reader 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ synopsis: One TMZ headline later, and the internet is in a full-blown meltdown. You should’ve known that sneaking out of Ellie Williams’ hotel at sunrise was a disaster waiting to happen. Now the whole world thinks you and Ellie are dating, and there’s only one way out—lean into the chaos. A fake relationship was never part of the plan, but if anyone can pull it of, it’s the two of you… right? 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ word count: 6,8k 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ content: unserious and chaotic as HELL lmao, fake dating, mostly dialogue, memes and brainrot stuff, LOTS of cursing, pet names, fluff if you squint, use of y/n, modern au, smoking weed, mention of cigarettes, alcohol and drugs, afab!reader, multiple part series, likes and reblogs are deeply appreciated 𖥔 ݁ ˖

TMZ EXCLUSIVE: Y/N’s MYSTERIOUS WALK OF SHAME… STRAIGHT OUT OF ELLIE WILLIAMS’ HOTEL? 👀🔥

Los Angeles, CA – Buckle up, internet, because today’s tea is so hot it might spontaneously combust. Early this morning, global pop sensation y/n was spotted making a very interesting exit from The Four Seasons—an exit that screamed, “I made some choices, and I’ll be dealing with the consequences (happily) later.”

Let’s paint the picture: baggy jeans (very much not hers), an oversized tee (suspiciously familiar), last-night heels, and, most importantly, the kind of walk that suggests she just lived through an... experience.🔥

VIDEO ATTACHED: y/n stepping out of The Four Seasons with the posture of someone who just discovered new life-altering truths about herself.

And now, the cherry on top? The hotel in question just happens to be the same one where rock’s reigning heartbreaker and The Fireflies' frontwoman, Ellie Williams, has been staying during the band's sold-out tour.

Yeah. Let THAT sink in.

THE NIGHT BEFORE: PURE CHAOS

Last night, the musicians were first spotted together at a private club in West Hollywood, and the energy? Dangerous. We’re talking intense eye contact, whispered words, and a proximity that had no business being that close. 👀

Sources inside the club (who, let’s be real, were probably staring way too hard) claim the two were “all over each other the entire night.” And then, like clockwork—both gone. Together.😏

PICTURE ATTACHED: y/n and Ellie at the bar, drinks in hand, leaning in so close they might as well be sharing oxygen.

Fast-forward a few hours, and one of them is leaving a luxury hotel in borrowed clothes, while the other is nowhere to be seen. Hm...

THE INTERNET: INSTANTLY UNHINGED

It’s not every day that the two of the most famous artists on the planet accidentally break the internet with a single walk of shame. It took exactly 0.2 seconds for Twitter—sorry, X—to collectively lose its mind. #YNxEllie shot to the top of the trending list faster than lighting, and the reactions? Pure, unfiltered, internet gold.

Some fans are calling it the rock-pop crossover event of the decade. Others are in full denial, muttering “it’s just a one-time thing” like a prayer (lol, sure). And then there’s the fanfic writers, who are already on their second chapter about this very moment.

Meanwhile, our two leads? Radio. Silence.

No wry Instagram stories. No cryptic tweets. No emergency PR statements. Just Ellie, cool as ever, casually liking a meme about getting your clothes stolen from “the girl you spent all night ruining.” 😭��

SO, WHAT HAPPENS NOW?

We wait. Impatiently.

Is this just an iconic but questionable decision? Will y/n post a cryptic thirst trap in retaliation? Will Ellie respond with an even more cryptic Instagram story? Or are we witnessing the birth of music’s next power couple?

One thing’s for sure—this is a story we’ll be watching very closely.

Stay tuned. 😏🔥

What do YOU think? Drop your theories in the comments below! ⬇️🔥

────────────

❤️ 10M — 💬 287,54k

@: this isn’t just a hookup. this is the lesbians Super Bowl.

@: tears in my eyes. full body worship. standing ovulation. whatever it’s called.

@: “mysterious walk of shame” NAH SHE CLOCKED IN, DID OVERTIME, AND LEFT WITH A RAISE 💀

@: not her texting the driver like “can’t feel my legs send help” 😭 icon.

@: someone check on the poor girl ellie this wasn’t a leave her paralyzed challenge

@: THE SECOND PIC. YALL. THEY LOOK SO GODDAMN FINE I’M CHEWING DRYWALL AND DRINKING THE DUST 😩

@: i need them to either hard launch or drop a sex tape at this point because my soul is restless

@: this is the most lesbian thing I’ve ever seen and I was THERE for korrasami and caitvi.

@: i just KNOW Ellie’s strap game goes absolutely feral and that walk was all the proof I needed #cravethat #scientificallyproven

@: pop mother got her back blown OUT

@: #elliehititrawandnowshestrending

@: they are either deeply in love or just HORRENDOUS at sneaky links. either way, I win.

@: tmz trynna act like we don’t instantly recognize Ellie’s entire wardrobe on her lmao

@: she defo picked those on purpose and you can't convince me otherwiseeee

@: the way we all clocked those clothes immediately like homegirl has worn that same fit 67 times this year and counting

@: Ellie dresses like a divorced dad at Home Depot but somehow y/n wearing her clothes is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen

@: one-night thing my ass. drop the collab album. drop the wedding invites. drop the baby name.

@: I have no idea what's going on but I support them!

The studio is cold. Too cold.

You lean against the massive soundboard, eyes heavy with exhaustion as the producer fine-tunes the levels on your latest track. The bass hums through the speakers, deep and rhythmic.

You got home, showered, and walked into the studio like nothing happened. Like you weren’t still replaying everything in your head—the heat of her hands, the weight of her body, the way she— Nope. Not going there.

The only thing keeping you upright is sheer force of will and the coffee clutched in your hands, now lukewarm but still packing enough caffeine to keep your legs from betraying you in front of the expensive equipment.

But something feels off.

Nobody is looking at you.

Nobody is saying anything.

The thing is, your team is never quiet. They talk about everything—schedules, brand deals, what the fuck you’re eating for lunch—but today? Nothing. Just silence.

Not a single offhand comment. No teasing about the all-nighter you clearly pulled. Not even a glance in your direction.

Your producer is laser-focused on the track, nodding along like it holds the meaning of life. Your sound editor keeps his eyes glued to the screen, like looking anywhere else might kill him. And your assistant—sweet, terrible liar that she is—won’t stop sneaking glances at her phone, then at you, then at her phone again, like she’s watching a train wreck in real time and trying to figure out when to break the news that you’re the train.

Slowly, you set your coffee down, reach for your own phone, and unlock it, already feeling the creeping dread claw up your spine.

The second your screen lights up, it’s over. Notifications flood in. X. Instagram. Texts. Group chats blowing up like a damn stock market crash. Millions of mentions. Your name trending in bold, blaring letters.

And then you see it.

TMZ EXCLUSIVE: Y/N'S MYSTERIOUS WALK OF SHAME… STRAIGHT OUT OF ELLIE WILLIAMS’ HOTEL? 👀🔥

You suck in a breath—a sharp, audible gasp that cuts through the eerie silence.

Your assistant makes a tiny, distressed sound. Your producer visibly flinches, finally daring to glance at you. Your sound editor—wise, blessedly silent—just pauses the track.

Your fingers move faster than your brain, scrolling in blind panic. Pictures. Too many fucking pictures.

The first one is a grainy, low-lit shot of you and Ellie at the bar—bodies too close, drinks in hand, faces inches apart. The kind of tension that crackles even through a shitty phone camera. The next? A ruthless side-by-side comparison of Ellie’s Instagram post from last week. Same shirt. Same jeans. The exact ones you walked out wearing.

And then—because the universe is a cruel, twisted place—the final nail in the coffin.

A video.

Of you.

Sneaking out of her hotel.

You hit play, and instantly regret every life choice that led you there. Because why the fuck were you walking like that?!

Not just suspicious. Not just guilty. But the kind of unsteady, post-life-changing-experience walk that has the entire internet foaming at the mouth, legs barely cooperating like you just left the scene of a particularly intense crime.

Your soul exits your body, ascends to the ceiling, and refuses to come back down.

Your phone starts ringing. And you already know who it is. For a brief, fleeting moment, you consider launching the damn thing across the room.

Because of course it’s Rachel.

Your manager and professional-life mastermind. The woman who negotiates your million-dollar deals before breakfast. And, apparently, the bane of your existence right now.

You push through the studio doors without explaining a damn thing, the cool air outside hitting your face like a slap. Your head is pounding, fingers digging into your temples like you can physically massage the embarrassment out of your skull.

Your phone still vibrates in your hand. You don’t even have time to brace yourself before answering. The second you do, her voice explodes through the speaker.

“OH. MY. GOD.”

You flinch, yanking the phone away from your ear like it might physically protect you. It doesn’t. She’s still yelling, still fully spiraling, and honestly? She has every right to. Because you’re trending. Hard.

And not for your music.

“Before you say anything—”

“ARE YOU SEEING THIS? My phone has been BLOWING UP since 6 AM. Do you understand what you’ve done?!”

You sigh, shifting uncomfortably. Here we fucking go.

“Rachel, I’m so fucking sorry, I never meant for that to happen I didn’t know there were paparazzi outside the hotel! I—”

“THIS IS PERFECT.”

“—know I fucked up”

You pause mid-spiral. Blink. “...Wait, what?”

“You heard me! This is GOLD. This is EVERYTHING. Your fans are losing their minds, the internet is eating this up, and you know what that means?”

“…That I need to delete my existence?”

“That this is going to take both of your careers to the next level.”

Your head is spinning. “Whoa—slow down. The fuck you mean?”

Rachel lets out an exaggerated sigh, like she’s explaining shapes to a toddler. “You need to be interesting. She needs damage control. You both need the press for the upcoming albums. This relationship is everything you need.”

“Relationship?” You nearly choke. “Rachel, we just hooked up. It was a one-time thing, nothing else.”

“Oh... just a one-time thing?”

“Yes!”

“Okay.”

She says it so casually you instantly know she’s about to ruin your life.

“Then fake it.”

“WHAT?”

Your soul leaves your body. Again.

“A fake relationship!” She repeats, like it’s the most normal suggestion in the world.

“Oh my god. No. NO. That’s—that’s fucking stupid!"

“Oh, come on, girl.” Rachel groans. “You would be shocked to know how many celebrity couples are fake. Like, 90% of them, and people still eat that shit up like it’s their job. It’s the most effective PR stunt in the history of PR stunts.”

“I don't care! Even if it’s fake, I don’t wanna be in a relationship with her!”

Rachel, clearly unimpressed “Be so fucking for real right now.”

“Listen” she continues, slipping into full Hollywood mastermind mode. “It’s the perfect rockstar-popstar trope that people are gonna LOVE. Some staged dates, some Instagram stories, show up to a few award shows together, write some songs about her for the album—blah, blah, blah. Then, when you both get what you want, you drop a statement about breaking up on good terms because of ‘busy schedules’ or ‘long distance’ or whatever. Boom. Done. Headlines. History.”

You exhale sharply, dragging a hand down your face, but you can already feel her words getting to you.

“Okay…that does sound kinda iconic...”

You hear her scream.

“BUT” You snap. “I seriously doubt she’s gonna be on board.”

“She has to be. That girl needs to clean up her image immediately. If she wants to keep her career afloat, she needs to say yes." Rachel doesn’t miss a beat. "Honestly, it even benefits her more than it benefits you.”

You press the phone tighter against your ear, your free hand rubbing over your face over and over again as if that’ll somehow erase this chaos unfolding in real-time.

But honestly?

What could go wrong?

So you exhale sharply again.

“Fine, fine. We’ll… debate it.”

“PERFECT! Tell me how it goes!”

There’s a short pause, just long enough for you to think—maybe—this conversation is about to take a serious turn.

And then—

“…So, how was she in bed?”

You nearly drop your phone. “RACHEL.”

“What?! It’s a valid question! I mean, I saw the walk.” A beat. Then, way too smugly “People are even making edits of your limp.”

Okay.

This is officially the worst day of your life.

“We are NOT doing this.”

“Oh, we are ABSOLUTELY doing this.”

You groan, squeezing your eyes shut. There's no escaping this.

“Was it life-changing or life-threatening? Did she break your back or fix your scoliosis?”

You stare up at the sky, silently begging for divine intervention. None comes. So, with the weight of someone who has lost everything, you exhale.

“…she made me see fucking Jesus.”

Silence. A beat.

Rachel screams so loud you nearly throw your phone at the window.

“I FUCKING KNEW IT.”

“HANGING UP NOW.”

“NO WAIT!—DID SHE—”

“BYE.”

You slam the End Call button so fast it’s a miracle your screen doesn’t crack.

Blissful, beautiful silence.

For exactly three seconds.

Buzz.

Rachel: COME BACK WE ARE NOT DONE.

Buzz.

Rachel: do I schedule a chiropractor or a priest? 😭

You turn your phone off. Permanently.

It was late, the kind of night where the city hummed low in the background, neon signs bleeding color into the streets.

And Ellie Williams was trying to have a normal band practice.

Trying.

But it was pretty fucking hard when Jesse and Dina were staring at her like she’d just announced she was quitting music to become a full-time televangelist.

She adjusted the strap of her guitar, already irritated. “Can you guys, I don’t know, say something instead of fucking looking at me like that?”

“Oh, we’re just waiting...” Jesse said as he leaned against the drum set, taking a slow drag of his cigarette and grinning like the absolute menace he was.

Dina, perched on an amp, smirked. “Yeah. Just giving you a chance to come clean before we bring out the receipts.”

Ellie scoffed, trying to play it cool. “What receipts?”

Dina wiggled her phone in the air, smirk widening. “Seems like you’ve been very busy, rockstar.”

She barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “The fuck are you both talking about!?”

Jesse and Dina exchanged the look. The kind that made Ellie’s patience thin by the second.

Jesse sighed dramatically, putting out his cigarette on the plato like he was about to drop the biggest bombshell of the century. “Alright, since you’re playing dumb—”

He pulled out his phone with the enthusiasm of a man whose sole purpose in life was witnessing Ellie’s downfall.

“Lemme just read the best part real quick—” And clearing his throat like he was about to give a Shakespearean performance:

“‘Global superstar y/n was spotted leaving Ellie Williams’s hotel early this morning after a rumored all-night rendezvous. Fans immediately noticed the pop star's unusually relaxed wardrobe choice—’”

Dina whistled. “‘—baggy jeans and an oversized tee, both belonging to a certain someone who was seen wearing them just last week—’”

Jesse shook his head, flipping his phone around. “Nah, this is crazy. This is some Oscar-worthy shit.”

Ellie groaned the second she saw the TMZ photo—you stepping out of the hotel in her clothes. And then there was her, leaving an hour later, hoodie up like it could shield her from literally everyone, rubbing the back of her neck like some dumbass who just realized they fucked up in a romcom.

She looked guilty as hell.

He zoomed in on her face, laughing. “Yo, you look like you just realized you caught feelings.”

Dina snorted, scrolling through her phone. “Oh, they are EATING this shit up. Listen to this” —dramatic inhale— “‘They are either deeply in love or just horrendous at sneaky links. Either way, I win.’”

Jesse howled. “‘Someone check on the poor girl—Ellie, this wasn’t a ‘leave her paralyzed’ challenge.’”

Ellie groaned. “You guys—”

“OH MY GOD.” Dina gasped. “SOMEONE JUST MADE A SIDE-BY-SIDE.”

Jesse leaned in. “Caption?”

“‘WHAT IN THE SCISSOR OLYMPICS. GOLD MEDAL PERFORMANCE.”

He collapsed against the drum set, howling even harder. “Nah, this is crazy. You really let her walk outta there like that?! You KNEW what you did. You knew EXACTLY what you were doing.”

Ellie covered her face with her hands. “I hate it here.”

Jesse was thriving, nearly bouncing on his feet like a kid on Christmas morning. “Dude. You bagged y/n. Like, THE Y/N. Pop princess herself. That fine-ass woman writes songs so good they make people crash their cars.”

Dina nodded solemnly. “I crashed twice to ‘Stay.’”

Ellie shot her a look. “First of all, you shouldn’t have a license.” Then at Jesse “Second, can you fucking NOT? We just hooked up. That’s it.”

He just snorted. “Yeah? Tell that to the 40 million people who liked the tweets about it.”

Ellie groaned so loud it could’ve been mistaken for a death rattle. “This is so fucking bad.”

Jesse ignored her, grinning like an absolute menace. “Like, do you even understand the cultural impact of what you’ve done? This is like—” He gestured wildly. “—punk rock meets Billboard Hot 100 hookup of the century!”

Dina smirked. “And judging by the way she was walking? You bodied that shit.”

Ellie scowled. “She was wearing heels all night!”

Dina arched a brow. “So were you gonna say that, or are you just making that up now?”

Ellie opened her mouth. Closed it. Dragged a hand down her face.

Jesse cackled. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

She was this close to walking out.

Then, like a gift from hell, her phone started buzzing.

Your name flashed across the screen. Gasps.

Ellie panicked, immediately shoving it in her pocket.

Dina’s jaw dropped. “Did you just—DECLINE Y/N?! Are you fucking STUPID?!”

Jesse shook his head, dead serious. “No, no. Let her cook. Maybe she’s playing hard to get.”

Ellie groaned, yanking her jacket off the chair and making her way to the door. “Practice over. I hope both of you trip over a flight of stairs and eat shit all the way down.”

“Aw, so sweet of you!” Dina beamed. “We’re gonna start picking baby names as soon as you leave.”

Ellie didn’t even look back—just flipped them off on her way out like a parting gift.

The door slammed shut loudly.

A beat of silence.

Then, muffled through the wall—

“AND JESSE STOP SAYING LET HER COOK THE MEME DIED MONTHS AGO.”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP NO IT DIDN’T!”

Ellie had barely stepped out of the studio, muttering “Fucking kill me” before calling you back. As soon as you answered, she was quick to be the first one to talk.

“Before you say anything—this is not my fault.”

Your voice came through immediately.

“Ellie.”

Tone flat. Dead serious.

She hesitated. “…Yeah?”

“I’m pregnant.”

Ellie stopped dead in her tracks. Like, full-body malfunction.

Her entire fucking life flashed before her eyes. Marriage. A house. A tiny baby wrapped in a flannel onesie. Joel crying at the babyshower. Dina and Jesse as the weirdly invested godparents.

Silence.

Then—

“Oh, fuck off!”

You howled with laughter. “Not even a little panic? All I got was a one-second existential crisis?”

“Dude. Biology exists.”

Though, if she was being honest, you had her for a solid half-second. She could already hear Joel clearing his throat, preparing for his father-of-the-bride speech, could already see Jesse and Dina clicking through a PowerPoint titled "Ellie Williams: Accidentally Domesticated—A case study."

You scoffed “See, this is why you’re no fun.”

“This is why you're deranged.”

“You love it.”

“No. You need therapy.”

“I have therapy. On Thursdays. Shoutout to Linda.”

Ellie pinched the bridge of her nose. “Did you actually need something, or was this just a drive-by psychological attack?”

“Oh, you know. Just the minor issue that the entire fucking internet thinks we’re dating?”

Ellie groaned, unlocking her car with a beep. “Technically, we could just ignore it—”

“Ellie.”

“…Yeah, yeah. What’s the damage?”

“Well” you started, voice syrupy sweet, “Not only do I look like I did the world’s sluttiest walk of shame, but people also figured out those were your clothes. And, fun fact! They say you dress like a divorced dad from Home Depot.”

“Yeah, I saw.”

“No, I don’t think you understand the severity of it.” Your voice got increasingly dramatic. “People have shipping spreadsheets. They have theories. Someone made a Google doc analyzing our astrology compatibility. Ellie, we are trending #1 WORLDWIDE.”

Ellie ran a hand down her face. “This is so fucking stupid.”

“Someone said—direct quote— that this is ‘the lesbian's Super Bowl.' ”

She paused. “That one might be true tho.”

“Oh, cut the bullshit.”

Ellie grinned, leaning back. “Alright, so what’s the move? Damage control?”

A pause.

“Well…” you said, voice a little too careful, “my manager thinks we should… lean into it.”

Ellie’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

Another pause.

Then, your voice, even softer now. “Can we… talk in person?”

Ellie immediately clocked the hesitation. “Why do I feel like I’m 'bout to get scammed?”

“You’re not! I just… I’d rather explain in person.”

She exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “…Fine. Where?”

“My place.”

Ellie frowned. “Why yours?”

“Because there’s paparazzi crammed outside the Four Seasons, dumbass.”

…Fair.

She exhaled. “…Yeah. Alright.”

“Cool. I’ll send you the address.”

A beat. Then—

“…Wait” Ellie muttered. “How the fuck did you get my number?”

Silence.

“…Contacts.”

Ellie’s brows furrowed. “What does that mean? Who—”

“Doesn’t matter.” you cut in, then cleared your throat. “Anyway. Can you, uh… give me my dress back? It was custom.”

“Yeah, about that…”

“…Ellie.”

“It might still be on the floor.”

A sharp inhale. “You little shit.”

Ellie smirked as she pulled out of the parking lot.

“On my way, pop star.”

Ellie had barely knocked twice before the door swung open.

And there you were.

Standing in the dim light of your penthouse, arms crossed, drowning in an oversized hoodie and sweatpants. Your hair was slightly messy, like you’d been curled up somewhere before she got here, and your skin glowed just right under the soft, golden hue of your apartment lights.

“Hey”

She exhaled, stepping inside as you shut the door behind her. She barely had time to take in the space before she realized—this was money.

The penthouse stretched wide, the kind of design meant to make people feel small. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the city skyline, headlights cutting through the night far below. The furniture was sleek, modern—gray couches, glass tables, designer pieces that looked both expensive and comfortable. A grand piano sat near the window, it's lid closed and a guitar leaning against it, used enough to make Ellie smirk.

But it was the small things that caught her eye. A candle burning low on the counter. A glass of wine next to a notebook cracked open on the coffee table, filled with lyrics. Scribbled, messy. Some lines scratched out, others rewritten in the margins.

“Jesus” she muttered, shoving her hands into her pockets. “Could’ve warned me I was walking into a fucking palace.”

“Says the millionaire.”

Her eyes flicked to you—leaning against the counter, arms crossed, mouth twitching like you were amused by her reaction.

She huffed.

“So.”

The silence stretched, just a little too thick. A weight neither of you wanted to touch.

Then, finally, you exhaled.

“My manager thinks we should fake date.”

Ellie snorted “Yeah, no shit.”

“She says it’ll be good for both of us.”

She hummed, sauntering over to the couch before sinking into it like she owned the place. Her legs spread wide, hands rubbing over her jeans, shoulders sinking into the cushions. She looked up at you, unreadable.

“And? You wanna do it?”

You hesitated. “I don’t know.” Your fingers tapped against the counter, your teeth dragged over your bottom lip. You looked… conflicted. “It’s just—ugh. The thought of staging something like this is so gross.”

You exhaled, tilting your head back. “Pretending to be into you in public? It just feels—”

A beat.

Ellie raised an eyebrow.

You hesitated.

And there it was. The shift.

“Pretending?” she repeated slowly.

You scowled. “You know what I mean.”

Ellie tilted her head, gaze flicking downward—brief, barely there—before dragging right back up like she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Do I?”

Your skin flushed, irritation prickling down your spine. She was too comfortable—slouched on your couch like it was hers, fingers drumming against her knee, wearing that look. That lazy, lopsided smirk that made your stomach clench and your heart do backflips.

You muttered. "Cut the bullshit."

Ellie watched you, green eyes sharp, the corner of her mouth curling like she already knew what you were thinking—like she could see straight through you. And maybe she could.

That was the problem.

Because this wasn’t just some business deal, some harmless PR stunt.

This was Ellie fucking Williams.

A menace. A woman who flirted like it was her second nature. Who carried herself with the kind of reckless confidence that made people love her and hate her in the same breath. She was sharp, fast-mouthed, and annoyingly charming when she wanted to be. She kissed like she had something to prove and fucked like she knew she was amazing at it.

She was the kind that didn’t just leave bruises—that left marks.

And now, you are supposed to pretend to be hers. In public. In pictures. In interviews. She’d make it look effortless, like every lingering touch and stolen glance meant everything.

Meanwhile, you’d have to grit your teeth and pretend she wasn’t already under your skin—pretend you don’t know exactly how this will end.

Ellie’s voice pulled you back.

“We can set rules.”

You blinked, exhaling sharply. “Rules?”

She nodded, resting her elbows on her knees. “Yeah. Lines we don’t cross. Shit we don’t do. Make it easier.”

You considered that. It did make sense. Setting boundaries meant this wouldn’t spiral into a complete disaster—just a controlled one.

“…Fine.”

Ellie grinned, tilting her head. “Great. Rule number one—no catching feelings.”

You scoffed, pushing off the counter and taking a sip of your wine. “Oh, trust me, Williams, that was never a problem.”

What a goddamn lie.

Ellie chuckled, dragging a hand over her jaw before settling back into the couch. She watched you a second too long, eyes flicking over you like she was deciding whether to call you on your bullshit. That fucking grin still lingered—lazy, amused.

She was enjoying this.

You exhaled slowly, setting your wine glass down with a quiet clink. “I got my own rules.”

“Let’s hear ‘em.”

You leveled her with a look. “No strings attached.”

Ellie blinked, then snorted. “Starting off strong.”

“I’m serious,” you said, arms crossing. “No getting weird about anything. We do what we have to do in public, but behind closed doors, it’s our business. No jealousy, no possessiveness.”

Ellie tilted her head, her smirk growing. “So basically, we can do whatever we want?”

You hesitated.

A fraction of a second too long.

Then nodded. “Yeah.”

There was a shift in the air. Subtle, almost imperceptible, but there. Ellie’s eyes dragged over you—slow, measured, her expression unreadable.

“…Can we still fuck, though?”

Your face didn’t waver, but your stomach clenched, a tiny, unwelcome knot forming deep in your gut.

“Yeah. But it doesn’t mean anything.”

The words landed firm, like a line drawn in the sand, but even as you said them, they felt a little off. Like something rehearsed, something you were trying a little too hard to believe.

Ellie let out a low chuckle, shaking her head. “Jesus, babe. You’re ruthless.”

“You got a problem with that?”

“Not even a little.” She stretched out, arms draping over the back of the couch, looking maddeningly at ease. “Just didn’t expect you to be the one setting that rule.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, because deep down, you weren’t sure what would piss you off more—her calling you out on your bullshit, or the fact that she might actually be right.

Ellie hummed. “Fine. No strings attached. What else?”

You rubbed your temple, thinking. “Public stuff needs to be controlled. If we’re going to be seen together, it needs to be intentional.”

Ellie nodded. “So, no sneaky paparazzi pics of us at, like, McDonald’s?”

“Exactly.”

“There goes my dream of getting papped in the drive-thru with you.”

You ignored that. “Next—if one of us wants out, we end it. No bullshit.”

Ellie’s smirk softened slightly. “Fair enough.”

The mood had shifted—just a fraction. You weren’t sure if that was a good thing or a warning sign, but at least your shoulders didn’t feel as tight anymore.

You reached for your wine again. “We also need a reason.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow.

“For why we’re suddenly together,” you clarified.

She considered it for a moment, then shrugged. “Easy. We met through mutual friends, started talking, made it official recently.”

You nodded. “Good. Vague, but believable.”

Then Ellie grinned. “So when’s our anniversary?”

“I’m breaking up with you already.”

Ellie threw her head back, laughing. “Damn. Cold as hell.”

You just smirked, watching the wine swirl in your glass, but the humor faded when Ellie leaned forward slightly, her gaze a little sharper now.

“So, just to recap,” she said, voice steady. “No feelings. No jealousy. We can fuck, but it doesn't mean anything. And if one of us wants out, we’re out.”

“…Yeah.” You swallowed, the weight of it settling between you both. “...Are you actually okay with this?”

Ellie leaned back into the couch, dragging a hand over her jaw.

Was she?

She’d done PR stunts before—appearances, interviews, the occasional fake chemistry for cameras. But a fake relationship? That was a different level of commitment. A different level of risk.

At the same time… she wasn’t exactly in a position to say no. She needed something to get the media off her ass. Headlines about bar fights, reckless behavior, and being a bad influence were piling up like a rap sheet. A carefully controlled narrative—a shiny, clean distraction—might be the only thing that kept her from burning out entirely.

But then…

She looked at you.

Drop-dead gorgeous. Smart as hell. Sharp tongue. A little mean in a way that made people want to prove themselves.

And yeah, sure—this was fake. But Ellie wasn’t fucking stupid. Fake or not, this was the kind of shit that got under her skin, settled in deep and refused to leave.

She’d made plenty of bad decisions before, walked into things knowing exactly how they would end, knowing they’d chew her up and spit her out. That was the thing about trouble. It never felt like trouble in the moment. It started as a game, as a deal, as something simple—until one day, it wasn’t. Until it had its teeth in her, until she was in too deep to pretend she didn’t care.

And this?

This had all the makings of that kind of mistake.

But she still exhaled, still ran a hand through her hair, still met your eyes without hesitation.

“Yeah” She sighed “I’m in.”

“Alright,” you murmured, swirling the wine in your glass before taking a slow sip. Then, with a smirk just shy of reckless—

“This is officially the worst decision of our lives.”

Ellie leaned back like she had all the time in the world, legs spreading wider, her grin all sharp edges. “What you mean? This is already the most stable relationship I’ve ever had.”

You scoffed, reaching for your wine again. “That’s not exactly comforting.”

Ellie shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, babe. The bar is in hell.”

You closed your eyes for a second, exhaled, then took another long drink. “God help me.”

After a few minutes, Ellie reached into her jacket pocket, pulling out a pre-rolled blunt, twirling it lazily between her fingers. She glanced up at you, a grin tugging at the corner of her lips.

“You smoke?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

Ellie shrugged, biting the tip of the blunt. “What? It’s part of the rockstar lifestyle.”

You scoffed. “And I’m the popstar, so technically, I should be saying no.”

Ellie pulled out a lighter, flicking it open with a metallic click. “Live a little.”

You exhaled. “Fine. But if TMZ catches me high, I’m blaming you.”

Ellie grinned, bringing the lighter to the tip of the blunt, the paper curling as it burned. She took a slow, practiced drag, holding it deep in her lungs before exhaling smoothly, the smoke swirling toward the ceiling. Then she passed it to you.

You hesitated for a half-second before bringing it to your lips, inhaling. The burn was familiar, settling in your chest before you exhaled, watching the smoke dissipate into the dimly lit room.

Already, the tension from earlier—the ridiculous fake-dating rules, the push and pull of whatever this was—started to fade into something looser, easier.

Ellie watched you, her smirk deepening. “Damn. You’re not new to this.”

You took another hit before passing it back, lips quirking. “Told you. I just have a better PR team than you.”

Ellie chuckled, shaking her head as she took another drag.

Somehow, the conversation had spiraled.

You were both slumped against the couch, trading the last remnants of the blunt back and forth, locked in a heated debate over whether or not you’d survive a zombie apocalypse.

Ellie scoffed, waving a lazy hand. “C’mon, you wouldn’t last a week.”

“Excuse me?” You sat up, pointing at her. “I would absolutely outlive you.”

“You literally have, like, five personal assistants. You don’t even carry your own bags.”

“So? That doesn’t mean I can’t fight!”

Ellie raised an eyebrow, amused. “Alright. How would you kill a zombie?”

You blinked. “...Guns?”

Ellie groaned, shaking her head like you had just personally offended her.

“What?!”

“You’d run out of ammo in, like, a week.”

You crossed your arms. “Okay, smartass. What’s your genius survival plan?”

“Baseball bat. Blunt force trauma. Reusable, no reload time.”

You wrinkled your nose. “That’s so gross.”

Ellie shrugged. “Yeah? So is dying.”

You huffed, sinking back into the couch. “I’m sure that if I were in a zombie apocalypse, I’d be the immune one.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, flicking the blunt towards the ashtray. “Oh, shut up. I'd be the immune one. And the main character.”

You huffed, dramatically flopping back against the couch, exhaling a long, exaggerated sigh. Ellie grinned, stretching her arms behind her head.

“All that contract negotiation made me hungry.”

You snorted, swirling the last sip of wine in your glass. “You literally agreed to everything in under five minutes.”

“Exactly,” Ellie sighed. “Exhausting.”

She pulled out her phone, scrolling. “What’s the most unserious meal we could possibly order right now?”

You barely had to think. “Taco Bell.”

Ellie’s face lit up. “God, I fucking love you.”

You shot her a dry look.

“Platonically. Obviously.”

You rolled your eyes, watching as she tapped aggressively on the app. “What do you want?”

“Crunchwrap Supreme, two Doritos Locos Tacos, and a Baja Blast.”

Ellie blinked. “You didn’t even hesitate.”

“I take my Taco Bell order very seriously.”

Ellie hummed approvingly. “Respect.” She added your order to the already absurd amount of food in her cart and checked out.

By the time the Taco Bell arrived, you were both fully slumped into the couch, heavy-limbed and loose from the high. Ellie tossed the bag onto the coffee table with zero grace, nearly knocking over your very expensive candle.

“Jesus, be careful” you muttered, steadying it.

Ellie unwrapped her burrito with a crinkle of foil, smirking. “What, scared I’ll ruin your rich-person aesthetic?”

You leaned back, exhaling. “Yeah, actually. I have a brand to uphold.”

Ellie huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she took a bite. The two of you ate in a comfortable lull, the only sounds coming from the low hum of music playing from your speaker and the occasional rustle of food wrappers.

In that moment, you felt something you hadn’t felt with anyone in a long time—at ease. Because being with her was effortless.

No need to pose, fake a smile, or worry if your hair was in place. You could just exist. And there was something dangerously comfortable about that, something weirdly domestic. Like slipping into a rhythm you hadn’t even realized you’d been craving.

Ellie spoke suddenly, pulling you back, like the thought had just slipped out before she could decide if it was worth saying.

“So, why’d you start doing music?”

The question landed between you like a weight, unexpected and heavy.

You paused, mid-bite, blinking at her. She wasn’t even looking at you—just lazily pulling apart her quesadilla, like she hadn’t just cracked open something raw and unplanned.

You swallowed, shifting slightly. “I don’t know.”

A beat.

“It’s the only thing I was ever really good at.”

That got her attention. Her fingers stilled against the tortilla, her eyes flicking up—steady, unreadable.

With a quiet sigh, you set your food down. “I mean, growing up, I sucked at everything else. School, sports, whatever—I just never stuck with anything. But music?” You tilted your head, feeling the thought click into place. “That made sense. I liked how it made people feel. You write something, and suddenly, some stranger out there feels understood in a way they didn’t before. Like, for three minutes, they’re not alone.”

Ellie’s chewing slowed, her gaze lingering. “Yeah.” Her voice had dropped, more thoughtful. “That’s kinda the whole point, huh?”

You hummed, watching her. “…What about you?”

She hesitated, then leaned back into the couch, stretching like she was trying to shake something off. “Not that different, honestly.” One arm draped over the backrest, fingers tapping idly against the cushion. “Joel was always into music. Taught me how to play guitar when I was a kid, and it just kinda stuck ever since.”

Your head tilted slightly. “Joel Miller? That’s your dad, right?”

A nod. “Yeah. He’s—” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “—intense. But in a good way, mostly. He gives a shit. Probably more than I deserve.”

Your brows knitted together. “That’s a weird thing to say.”

Ellie let out a quiet chuckle, but it was dry, almost automatic. “Nah. Just being honest.”

Something about the way she said it made your chest feel tight.

You thought about pushing, about pressing your thumb against that tiny crack she’d let slip, but something told you she’d just deflect, maybe make some stupid joke to steer the conversation away.

So, instead, you sighed dramatically, letting the moment pass. “I think I’m too high for all this deep shit.”

Ellie huffed out a laugh. “Same.”

You grinned, swirling your drink. “Okay, new topic—what’s your favorite song?”

Ellie tilted her head, thinking. “Dunno. How’s that one song of yours go? That’s that me espresso?”

The room went still.

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

A deep, soul-crushing betrayal settled in your chest, a wound so profound it might never heal. Your breath caught, fingers gripping your shirt like she had physically stabbed you.

Ellie, still chewing, barely spared you a glance. “What?”

Your hands trembled. “That’s Espresso.”

Your voice dropped an octave. Near-feral.

“BY. SABRINA. CARPENTER.”

Ellie paused mid-bite, brow furrowing. “Wait… that’s not your song?”

Your jaw dropped. “Are you out of your fucking mind?!”

Ellie shrugged, unbothered. “I mean, y’all sound kinda similar.”

You shot up so fast from the couch it screeched against the floor. “I HOPE YOUR AMP SHORT-CIRCUITS MID-SOLO.”

Ellie’s laughter rang through the room, loud and unbothered. “Jesus. Touch some grass.”

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the weight of an arm draped over your waist.

The second was the godawful dryness in your mouth, the kind that only came from bad decisions the night before and even worse hydration choices.

Squinting against the morning light, you shifted slightly, trying to piece together where the hell you were. Your head ached, limbs heavy, the air still thick with the scent of weed.

And then, as you turned your head—

Ellie.

Dead asleep beside you.

Face buried in the couch, hair a disaster, breathing slow and steady. One arm thrown over your waist like it belonged there, her entire body half-pressed against yours, radiating warmth. Her tank top had ridden up slightly, exposing just enough of the tattoos trailing down her back to make your already-dysfunctional brain short-circuit.

It should be illegal to look that good while sleeping.

You swallowed hard, painfully aware of the way her fingers twitched slightly against your stomach. Desperate for a distraction, you forced your gaze to the rest of the room.

The coffee table was an absolute crime scene—wrappers, crumpled napkins, open sauce packets, empty Baja Blast cups, and one lonely, half-eaten quesadilla clinging to life.

You groaned softly, rubbing your face, before muscle memory had you reaching for your phone.

And that’s when the real nightmare started.

Rachel (25 Missed Calls, 17 Texts).

Your stomach immediately twisted into knots.

Dreading whatever mess you’d apparently caused, you clicked the messages.

Rachel: WAKE UP Rachel: WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP Rachel: CHECK TWITTER RIGHT NOW.

A cold dread crawled up your spine.

With the kind of slow, creeping horror usually reserved for slasher films, you opened Twitter.

And there it was.

Trending.

#y/nandEllie

#HARDLAUNCHOFTHECENTURY

Your entire body locked up.

“What the fuck?” you croaked, voice barely functioning.

Next to you, Ellie shifted, groaning as her arm tightened around your waist, pulling you in just a fraction before she mumbled into the cushion, voice thick with sleep, “Why’re you talking?”

You didn’t even process the fact that she was literally holding you because you were too busy trying not to pass out.

Instagram. You need to check instagram.

And then you saw it.

Your most recent story.

A photo of Ellie.

Sitting on the couch, head tilted down, scrolling on her phone. Messy hair, tattoos on full display, one leg tucked up like she owned the place. In front of her? The entire ungodly Taco Bell order. Wrappers, bags, napkins—absolute devastation.

And the caption, in bold, unhinged letters:

she eats like a mf frat boy but somehow still looks hot. life is unfair.

One hundred million people have already seen it.

“FUCK!”

Ellie shifted again, her fingers skimming your stomach as she let out a sleepy groan. “Dude” she mumbled. “What now?”

You turned to her, shoving the phone directly in her face, voice pure horror.

“You let me post this?!”

She blinked at the screen. Then blinked again. And then, as if the universe hadn’t already humiliated you enough, she started grinning.

It was slow at first, creeping across her face, her shoulders starting to shake—before she full-on lost it. Ellie fucking cackled. Like, sleep-rough, chest-shaking, burying-her-face-in-the-couch dying.

You smacked her arm. “THIS IS FUCKING SERIOUS!”

She barely lifted her head, still grinning like an absolute menace.

“We smoked another blunt, got drunk, and thought it would be funny.” She stretched lazily and patted your thigh, voice rough with amusement. “So, I guess we’re official now.”

You smacked her again.

← 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛𝑒 | 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 | 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑒 →

taglist (tysm for supporting, hope you enjoy <333): @st0nerlesb0 @willurms @vahnilla @mancyw1214 @rxreaqia @laceyxrenee @antobooh @tittielover-420 @annoyingpersonxoxo @haithone @lofied @sunflowerwinds @xojunebugxo @reidairie @piscesthepoet @elliewilliamskisser2000 @pariiissssssss @mxquelo @elliesbabygirl @xx2849 @kiiramiz @mikellie @brooks-lin @kaykeryyy @lovely-wisteria @marscardigan @elliesanqel @lovelaymedown @gold-dustwomxn @ilovewomenfr @seraphicsentences @mascspleasegetmepregnant @raindroprose23 @creepyswag @jujueilish @elliesgffrfr @kirammanss @liztreez

࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ I HAD SO MUCH FUN W THIS ONE LMAOOO. I went so full out with brainrot memes i realized how much i need to touch some grass. I did like 30 proofreads, but there might still be a few grammar mistakes here and there—sorry in advance, english isn't my first language and I will be happy to receive constructive criticism!.

Please leave a comment if you’re interested in being on the permanent taglist for this series!

see ya'll soon, stay tuned ;)

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sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth · 3 months ago

Text

There's Sam girls and Dean girls

(Sam Winchester x female reader x Dean Winchester)

Summary A case leads you to a Supernatural convention. You can't help but tease Sam and Dean about their notoriety, but then it turns out you are in the books, too. And there's some stuff in there you don't want the brothers to know about. CWs Sexy thoughts but no sexy actions. Supernatural book series. Conventions. Awkwardness. Cheesy book covers. Secret crushes. Rated Teen. 3.7k words.

Sam x reader x Dean masterlist ⏐ SPN masterlist

“It’s so… lifelike,” you say, moving your head a little so you can see better through the reflection of the glass.

“Very funny,” Sam says, and his voice tells you that he doesn’t think it’s funny in the slightest.

“I mean the hair, the shoulders, the ripped jeans, blood-dripping axe, the…”

You narrow your eyes, trying to see. “Is that a harmonica?” you ask. Sam leans over you, so close you can smell his aftershave.

“I think it’s supposed to be a knife?” he says, but he doesn’t sound sure.

“I think it’s a harmonica,” you say, turning around and he leans back, while he looks at the glass case behind you with pain in his eyes. “I mean you’re famous for your mouth organ skills,” you conclude, grinning proudly at making that sound as dirty as it does.

Sam doesn’t appreciate the joke, his face full of horror while he does the cutest little pout.

“I hate this,” he says, still looking at the book in the case behind you. Supernatural, by Carver Edlund. Whichever volume this is, it has Sam and Dean on the cover in worrying and completely impractical states of undress, fighting hordes of what are meant to be demons but look more like gremlins.

It has been your utmost pleasure in the last fifteen minutes to torture Sam with how he is portrayed on these covers. They’re ludicrous and over-the-top but if anyone could pull off the no shirt, ripped jeans, harmonica playing look it would be Sam. Or Dean.

Speaking of, he walks up in just that moment. “I hate this,” he says, echoing his brother. You don’t. You actually love this.

Sam looks at Dean. “Anything?” he asks. Dean shakes his head.

“I guess Chuck isn’t here so he can’t help us,” the older Winchester replies, and then asks immediately, voice annoyed: “How in the world is this happening again? The second time people are getting attacked by ghosts at a Supernatural convention? How?”

Sam nods, then scans the crowd moving around you in the lobby-turned-fan-shop of the hotel you’re in.

“At least Becky’s not here this time,” he mutters.

“Guys, guys, guys,” you say, raising your hands, “you are looking at this completely the wrong way.”

Both brothers look at you, Sam still like he is about to panic, Dean like he is about to punch someone in the face.

“You guys are legends here,” you tell them. “Rockstars. WWE champions.” The last one you direct at Dean, but the angry look doesn’t leave his face.

“Except nobody knows that we are real,” Sam says, “and no one can know.” You shrug.

“But still,” you say, “don’t you think it’s kind of cool? That all the people here adore you?” Another shrug, and then you add: “At least in theory.”

Sam gives a deep sigh and Dean looks at the book on display behind you.

“Alright,” he says finally, slapping his hands together. “I say we go with journalists. We’re here to cover the convention for a local paper.” Sam nods.

“Sounds good, let’s get going,” he says and starts walking.

Dean hangs back just a second, turns to you. He points at the book cover.

“My hair doesn’t look like this, does it?” he asks, voice lowered. You suppress a grin.

“No, of course not,” you say, giving an assuring nod as you pat him on the shoulder. Dean doesn’t look convinced and then you follow Sam.

Several guests in the hotel have reported sighting of people in their rooms at night, some saying they were flickering, like on an old TV. There’s been cold spots and things moving, but no one’s gotten hurt yet, except for one guy who got freaked out and fell down a few stairs, spraining his ankle.

The only reason you’re even checking it out is because you were just a few towns over, finishing up a case.

When you pulled into the hotel parking lot and saw the banners, Dean nearly turned the Impala around on the spot. It was only after you told him that innocent people might be getting hurt that he begrudgingly parked the car. Sam meanwhile had gone quiet and a little pale.

So often, they’re so similar but so often they’re not.

“It’s easy for you, you know,” Dean is saying to you while you are walking through the lobby, “it’s not like your every thought and private life is just put on display, for everyone to read.”

“Hey!” you say, sounding a little offended. “I must be in there somewhere, right? I’m your trusty sidekick, I don’t at least get a mention?” Sam chuckles a little.

“Probably,” he says, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Would be weird if you weren’t.” You nod.

“Damn right it would be,” you reply. “It would be downright—”

“Oh my God, you guys look great!” you hear a voice close behind you. All three of you turn around.

There’s a couple standing behind you. He’s got his arm around her shoulder and she has a hand on his chest and is grinning at you, eyes wide. They’re not in costume like the majority of the other convention goers are, but they are merched the hell out. His t-shirt has one of the book covers on it and hers the words Winchester Family Business. It’s actually kind of nice.

“Thanks,” you say instinctively, although you’re not sure why. The guy points at Sam, and goes: “Let me guess, you’re Sam, right?”

You think duh before you understand what he means. He thinks he’s cosplaying as Sam.

Sam takes a second to get it as well. “Uh yeah,” he says. “Sure.”

“Makes sense because of the height,” the girlfriend says, “but I think you’d be a better Castiel, looks-wise.”

You look at Sam just to see an entire identity crisis go over his face.

“And you,” she says, looking at Dean now. “You look great!” Her boyfriend nods. “Real strong on the whole Dean vibe.”

Dean actually looks flattered and you make sure you remember to tease him about that later.

“But,” the girlfriend says, and then her eyes land on you and you panic for a second. She shakes her head appreciatively. “You know a lot of people don’t manage to pull it off, but you’re rocking it.”

“Rocking…it?” you ask, feeling your mouth go dry.

“Yeah!” she says, her face excited and she says your name. When she sees that you’re not picking up what she’s putting down, she waves her hand, gesticulating towards you. “I mean you got her down perfectly. The hair, the outfit, the devil-may-care attitude while still being a little cutie.”

And yeah, okay, it is flattering, so you can’t really blame Dean, especially not when the guy says: “Like Faith and Buffy had a kick-ass baby! Basically the perfect woman!”

His girlfriend pokes her finger into his side, but she’s laughing. You shrug, the comparison definitely getting to you.

“I’ve often thought so,” you say. The girlfriend squeals. “That’s totally something she would say!” Looks like your character work is on point.

Of course Sam has to ruin the rainfall of compliments. “We’re actually here from a local paper,” he’s saying, and if there was a subtle way to throw him an annoyed look you would do it. “Anything… unusual happen since you guys have gotten here?” The couple look at each other.

“Not really,” she says, “but we only got here this morning. We couldn’t get time off work earlier.” So they probably can’t tell you anything regarding the sightings.

“Thanks anyway,” Dean says, and you’re about to turn away, when the woman says: “It’s a fun idea, by the way, going as the love triangle. Just makes sense.”

You freeze and you’re pretty sure so do Sam and Dean.

“The love what now?” you say after a second.

“Love triangle?” she confirms, looking at you. When she sees the clueless look on your face, she puts her hand over her mouth.

“Oh crap,” she says, “are you not that far in the books?” Then she’s motioning towards her boyfriend’s shirt. He pulls the strap of his bag away so that you can see better as you take a step closer to him.

Like you already saw earlier it’s one of the book covers, the number telling you it’s a recent one. It has Sam and Dean on it, again, half-naked, looking like they work for Rent-a-Highlander. But there’s a third figure on the cover. You step even closer to see.

It’s a woman. She’s wearing a red, skin-tight dress that’s flayed in places and has a sword in her hand. She’s also leaning her back against one of the guys, the one who’s supposed to be Sam, long hair blowing in the wind, his hand on her hip and his sculpted chest pressed against her back, while the other guy, who’s supposed to be Dean, ripped shirt barely covering anything, is facing her, cupping her chin.

Your eyes go wide. “Oh. My. God.”

“Oh my God,” you say, again.

You can’t stop saying it, as the three of you weave your way through the crowd, Sam leading since he can see best where you’re going.

You say it again because what you just saw isn’t sinking in.

“What’s the matter?” Dean says behind you, snarkiness in his voice. “Isn't it nice to be adored?”

You whip around to throw him an angry look and promptly walk into Sam’s back, since he’s stopped. You almost jump back. Any kind of physical contact seems loaded right now.

“Let’s go over here,” Sam says, pointing to a seating group in a quiet corner. When you reach it, you plop down in one of the chairs. You’re tempted to say oh my God again but luckily Sam starts talking first. “Okay, we gotta find some people who have encountered the ghosts, assuming it is ghosts.”

He’s purposefully not looking at you, instead scanning the room. “Maybe we should split up, meet up again in an hour and see what we found.”

Okay, so he is just completely ignoring this. Very Sam. Dean, on the other hand, is not.

“That dress would just be so unpractical,” he says, apropos of nothing. “But damn, it was ripped in all the right places.” You look at him, eyes wide as saucers.

“Seriously?” you hiss at him.

“What?” he says, raising his hands. “You’ve been making fun of us from the moment we got here. I can’t do the same?”

You’re lost for words because as uncomfortable as it is, he’s not totally wrong. You’re kind of reaping what you sowed. You make a secret vow to yourself to never, ever do any sowing again.

“Guys!” Sam says, making you and Dean look at him. “Focus?” You shake your head. “Yes, you’re right. Ghosts. Hauntings. Work.” Then you take a deep breath.

You can’t get that cover out of your head. It’s so cheesy, over the top. Silly. But damn it if the idea of being between Sam and Dean like that isn’t making you feel some things. Clearing your throat, you bring yourself back to reality.

“Maybe splitting up is a good idea. And like you said, we meet back here in an hour and compare notes,” you say. Sam nods.

“Okay,” he says and then he is walking away. No see you later, no good luck. He is just walking off. What the hell?

You look back at Dean and you are about 99% sure you catch him looking at your boobs.

“I really hope you’re not imagining that dress on me, Dean Winchester,” you say, and Dean makes a face that tells you that is exactly what he was doing.

You huff, then get up and walk away too.

Love triangle is ridiculous.

For a love triangle to happen, there would need to be flirting. Maybe kissing. There hasn’t been.

Well, that’s not entirely true.

Flirting with Dean is easy and you slip into it all the time. Sometimes it’s just teasing, but other times…

Other times it takes on a different quality. Dean looks into your eyes a second longer than he needs to, until you feel your breathing getting a little heavier. He checks you out and compliments you but some of his compliments are so specific, so genuine that it flusters you.

Sam, on the other hand, doesn’t flirt with you at all, but then you don’t know what it would look like for Sam to flirt. Instead, he does small things he doesn’t need to do, pays attention to things that would escape anyone else's notice. He helps you take off your jacket when you’re hurt and can’t move your arms or shoulders so well, his fingers grazing your skin lightly, making it feel like they’re shooting off electricity. He stands close to you, closer than he needs to, so that you brush up against him when you move.

But love triangle? you think, as you’re talking to the third group of people that hasn’t seen anything out of the ordinary. Love triangle is just ridiculous.

The group you’re talking to is two young women and a guy. They’re nice and are happy to talk to you, but no ghost sightings.

Ironically, one of them is dressed as a ghost. “Old Halloween costume,” she grins when you complimented her on it.

You’re chatting about the convention and that everyone’s waiting for a new book to come out, while you hold a little pad and a pen in your hands, to look all journalist-y. They’re talking passionately amongst themselves about where the story is going. You can’t help yourself – you have to ask.

“So what do you guys think about the love triangle?” you ask, trying to act as unaffected as possibly.

“I know some people don’t like it,” the girl dressed as a ghost says, “but I love it.”

The guy, dark hair and glasses, nods. “Yeah,” he says, “I think she’s a great addition to the story. I mean, no offense, I like the old books too, but geez, I think we all had enough of that sausage fest.”

The second girl, short bob and freckles, laughs. “There’s only so many scenes you can have with the brothers miscommunicating while they are in emotional turmoil. These books need some sex!”

You all laugh. The books aren’t the only ones, you think.

“Plus,” ghost girl says, pointedly looking at you, “she is super hot. Have you seen those covers?”

You remember the cover, of course, remember the way Sam was grabbing your hip and Dean tilting up your face. Well, not your face, not your hip.

Whatever. This is confusing.

“But isn’t it awkward?” you ask, still not able to stop yourself. “I mean someone’s bound to get hurt, right?”

Freckles shrugs. “Maybe,” she says, “I just hope she ends up with Sam. I mean, Jesus, he’s so controlled and then there’s that scene where he thinks about what he wants to do to her? How he just wants to let his control slip, press her against the wall and make her his?”

You swallow, just as Freckles makes a head-exploding-sound. “Too hot.”

“I don’t know,” Glasses says. “I like her with Dean.”

“Dean’s too much of a playboy,” Freckles interrupts him. “He’ll never settle down.”

“That’s what makes it so romantic,” Glasses responds, leaning forward. “He’s never been in love and then he meets her and he can’t have her? Duuude.”

He sighs, then grins, before he adds: “Plus you know he must be a beast in bed.”

Laughs all around again while you pretend that you are totally fine and not turning into molten lava. To distract, you turn to ghost girl.

“Who do you think she should end up with?” you ask. Ghost girl shrugs.

“Why pick one?” she says. “She should just take both. She fantasizes about it, after all.”

You just have enough time to think holy crap, your spank bank material is in these books, when you hear Dean behind you: “Who fantasizes about what?”

You whip around, and Sam and Dean are standing right behind you.

“Nothing,” you say immediately. You turn back to the group.

“Thank you,” you say, raising your note pad that you have written absolutely nothing into. “I appreciate you talking to me.” The wave at you and then you get up.

“Anything?” you ask Sam and Dean in a low voice, hoping they won’t ask what you were talking about.

“I think I got something,” Sam says. He fills you both in: the people who have notices the cold spots are all on the same floor. So that’s where you go.

The hallways of the hotel are abandoned since everyone is downstairs at the convention. There’s no sign of any ghostly activity, at least not until you walk ahead, scanning the hallway in front of you, and suddenly Sam says your name and you feel his hand wrap around your arm.

He pulls you back and you just see a presence appear in the exact spot where you were standing a second ago. It shrieks and then disappears.

It would be scary but you are very much distracted by the fact that when Sam pulled you back he pulled you towards the wall and you are now between it and him, his heaving chest at the surprise right in front of you.

How he just wants to let his control slip, press her against the wall and make her his.

You need to take a deep breath. Sam looks down at you, his big hand still around your arm.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Mmh hmm,” you reply, since words are hard.

“That wasn’t a ghost,” Dean says, stepping closer to you two. Sam turns to him and lets go of your arm.

“What are you thinking?” he asks.

“Death echo,” you just manage to mutter. They both look at you.

“It was quick but I think I saw a gunshot wound,” you add, sort of proud of how steady your voice sounds now that you're saying more than two syllables. “If it was a ghost it would have attacked me. I mean, I basically walked through it.” Sam nods, thinking.

“Yeah, that makes sense.” Dean nods as well, looks at you. “Smart. That’s our girl.”

He must be a beast in bed.

And yeah, your voice probably wouldn’t be so steady after he says that, so you decide to just smile and nod.

“Death echoes are harmless, right?” Dean asks, turning to Sam. His little brother nods. “They are. They can be reminded that they’re dead, but it usually just works if someone they have a connection to does it.” You swallow to steady yourself.

“I think I might have an idea,” you say.

It's a minor spell that you learned years ago. The ingredients are basic and easy to get, and Sam says the incantation while Dean draws the pentagram on the wallpaper in the hallway.

“They’ll just think it was some fans,” he shrugs at you.

The death echo makes another appearance and the spell helps to remind it of its death. The spirit passes on, the cold spots disappear and it’s another day of work well done.

You’re almost sad to leave because the people you were talking to were nicer than the folk you run into on your normal cases.

But you’re also glad to be getting out of there. You don’t need anymore reminders of how hopeless and complicated your crushes on the two brothers are, and you certainly don’t need any more sexy ideas put in your head.

You climb into the back of the Impala, sitting in the middle, while Sam and Dean get into the front. A big sigh leaves you involuntarily.

You gotta put this behind you. Nothing good lies that way.

You notice then that Dean hasn’t started the car, so you look up, and you see both of them looking back at you.

“What?” you ask, already defensive.

“Look,” Sam says, sounding a little uncomfortable, “do we need to talk?” At your wide eyed stare, he adds: “About the love triangle thing?”

Oh God, you cannot even express how much you do not want to talk about that. So you decide to just lie.

“It’s just part of the book,” you say, doing your best to sound convincing. “I mean I know Chuck’s a prophet and all, but come on, he must have made some stuff up, you know? Besides, sex sells! Everyone knows that.”

Sam nods, but Dean doesn’t drop it.

“Right,” he says, and then sort of looks down, you don’t know at what, “so you’ve never dreamed of two pairs of strong, calloused hands running over your body, exploring every inch of you, making you feel small and desired?”

Your eyes go even wider, if such a thing is possible, because, yes, absolutely you have, but how in the world does Dean know that?

“Or,” Sam adds, suddenly not so awkward-looking anymore. He reaches his hand and Dean hands him whatever he’s been holding. Sam brings it up over the seat where you can see it, and it’s an edition of the book that has the three of you on the cover.

Sam reads from it, eyebrows raised. “Or lying between two big, solid bodies while their practiced mouths make you shudder in ecstacy, screaming your lust to the heavens as their manhoods undo you again and again?”

Dean guffaws.

“Damn,” he says, “you have a dirty mind.”

He turns and starts the engine, music blaring from the stereo.

You slip lower in your seat, your hands going over your face, hoping the earth will simply open up and swallow you down as the car starts moving.

“This can’t be happening,” you mutter.

You peek between your fingers and Dean is drumming on the steering wheel, while Sam grins at you.

“Pretty hot,” he says, and then turns forward as well.

You can’t help but grin a little.

#sam winchester x you x dean winchester #sam winchester x reader x dean winchester #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #spn #supernatural #sorry's fics

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ghast1yghosts · 3 months ago

Text

Eddie’s back hits the wall and Steve crowds into his space, never breaking their feverish kiss. Steve’s hand gently comes to cup his cheek while the other presses on the small of his back, arching Eddie’s spine to touch up against the hard line of his body.

Barely parting, Eddie’s shallow intake of air gets cut off again by the sinfully plush and slick lips, quickly passing his own to lick into his his mouth.

He doesn’t know where to put his hands—they end up bunched in Steve’s hair.

Gripping tighter on the short strands as the thumb on his face ghosts down to push his chin up. A lewd pop sounds when those lips leave and start trailing down the curve of his jaw, teasing their way down his neck only stopping when its found its mark.

Eddie drops his head back to the wall with a soft groan, basking in the overwhelming presence and feeling of SteveSteveSteve that will always feel all too consuming.

“Steve…” He can’t help the small whimper escaping.

Lips leave their place and hands cup the sides of his face.

“Hey. Hey, Eds. You okay?” Bleary and confused as to why Steve stopped, Eddie blinks his eyes open to look at the concerned expression on his face.

“W- Yeah—“ He clears his throat a little, “Yeah, I’m fine, Steve.” The man just looks at him, reading his expression carefully and quietly searching for any signs of discomfort.

Then what just happened it hits him dead on.

Eddie closes his eyes and drops his head slightly.

“Please tell me you didn’t pick that up,” he winces.

He’s met with silence and risks peeking at Steve, and then watches as realization dawns on his face followed by a snarky grin that splits his face, a laugh on the edge of it.

“Yep. You bet we fuckin got that Munson,” the camera operator calls from the side of the set. They send Steve into a fit of hysterics and Eddie shoves him back a step.

God damnit, it was the second take at least and not the first.

“Fucking Chri— We’re deleting that and forgetting this ever happened.” Steve’s laughter rings throughout the 3 sided room, “I swear to go this does leave this set.”

“Hey, at least you were convincing.” It’s the goddamn *director* this time. This is mortifying.

“Can it. You try kissin this guy and see if you remember your fuckin name.”

They raise their hands, “Sounds like a good deal to me—don’t have to ask me twice.” Eddie just shakes his head at the antics.

This wasn’t exactly how he thought the 6th day of filming for his “big acting debut” would go, but given the circumstances, he can’t necessarily be disappointed either.

His fellow cast and crew haven’t been anything less than amazing and accommodating. They’re all so passionate about the film, it’s indescribably enthralling to be apart of.

He smiles when Steve finally catches his breath, raising his hands to cup his face again, and gives him a chaste kiss—more smile than lips.

—

This is a possible sequel scenario from my Unwritten Fame AU: starting Rockstar Eddie and Actor Steve, whom have been dating for years, but only recently came out as a couple to the public.

#steddie #eddie munson #stranger things #steve harrington #steve x eddie #archive #my writing #rockstar eddie munson #fame au #wip #will do at some point. hopefully

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keraawrites · 3 days ago

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Meddle about

Summary: Rockstar Eren AU; You were devoted, his biggest fan. So, of course, you'd jump at the chance to meet him even if it meant you'd just be another notch on his belt. ۶ৎ Eren x black fem reader ۶ৎ

Context: Studio sex, name calling (daddy, ma, slut) protected sex, rough, oral (f receiving), choking, spanking, fingering, doggy, recorded (?)

Word count— 3.5k

Babble: This is Lust for @merakidoll's Ten Desires event

No one really understood your level of devotion when it came to Eren Yeager. To them, he was just another reckless R&B artist with too many tattoos and too much sex appeal. But to you? He was everything.

You remember when you first heard one of his songs, and you could swear it changed every course of your life.

You remember when it happened as well, you had broke up with some dumb ex and was trying to find any breakup song to ease your pain but Eren Yeager singing how he could wreak your pussy seamed to ease your pain just fine.

You searched him up right away, found his Instagram, Twitter, TikTok and any other social media platforms he was connected to. He was toxic, some of the world seemed to think so, but of course, girls loved him. He was fucking sexy.

He had danger in his eyes that had your panties pooling every time you saw a new picture of him.

You had become quite dedicated to him when you listened to the rest of his album 'Free,' he had touched your heart and pussy. Yeah most of his songs revolved around fucking and slutting girls out but there were some deep ones in there.

You had become a fan of his very quick, went to every concert you could, festivals, gigs. You knew about his close circle, how his very first albulm was about his ex girlfriend, Mikasa and how most of his deep songs were about the rest of his close knit friends.

You had followed them, too, anything to keep you close to him.

It had been some time since you went to one of his concerts, not because you didn't want to but because Eren had taken a small break which broke his fans hearts but he made it up to you all with a contest.

A contest that you had won. You didn't think you would have, but you did. Stayed up all night just to call in when his song played on spotify radio.

You don't even remember calling in, delirious from the lack of sleep but you did, you called. Answered all the questions in under 30 seconds and won.

And you won big, having won an exclusive look at his new album. You had won a chance to watch him in the studio, an official VIP meet-and-greet.

Now here you are, aggressively rubbing body oil on your body as you continue to overthink your outfit for the third time.

"I think I'm gonna throw up."

"Girl if you don't shut the fuck up, I will happily take your place."

You kissed your teeth as you continued to get ready, you had called your bestfriend for moral support but she was not helping at all. You didn't have time to be nervous, the clock was running and they were sending a car to pick you up at 7 and it was 10 to.

"Fuck, okay." You took a shot of tequila before you finished touching up your hair. You shimmied into your leather mini skirt and clipped your corset together. The brown corset hugged your boobs nicely as it tucked into the black mini skirt that hugged your curves.

"Bitch lemme see, need to see what I'm sending you off in."

You took some quick pictures of yourself, ignoring her completely before you got a notification on youir phone.

"Sorry girl, I'll send pics, the cars here."

"Bitch, don't do anything I wouldn't do."

You didn't expect the studio to be here; it was in a penthouse suite, one only his people knew about of course. And now, you.

The driver had told you that he'd be here to pick you up in three hours before handing you off to his security and manager.

"It's nice to meet you Miss, Eren is already upstairs and expecting you. You can have your phone with you but Eren has asked for you not to post anything on social media about his new albulm."

You nodded as you continued to listen to his manager, you could feel the nerves bubble up into you as the elevator reached closer and closer to the top floor.

"Congratulations again for winning and enjoy."

A soft chime rang out as the elevator doors slid open, revealing a dimly lit hallway with thick carpet, moody lights, and gold-trimmed doors. It was silent, except for the low thrum of bass coming from behind the very last door.

You hesitated for only a second before walking toward it, heels muffled against the floor.

You stood in front of the studio door, heart hammering, then raised your hand and pushed it open.

The scent hit first, weed, and expensive cologne—followed by the low hum of his album vibrating through the speakers.

The room was spacious and intimate, more like a luxury lounge than a studio. Plush couches. Vinyl panels. Soft LED lighting set to a lazy purple glow.

You had to hold your scream as your eyes landed on him; his back was to you, but even from behind, he looked like a fucking sin. Shoulders littered in tattoos that tensed beneath a white tank that clung to every muscle, sweatpants slung low on his hips, and a hoodie tossed carelessly over one shoulder. He moved in time with the beat, head bobbing as he studied the sound.

“Damn ma…” he muttered, you were startled, not realising that he had noticed you.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Fuck, fuck. He was soooo much sexier up close.

"You're the contest winner, y/n, right?" His voice was raspy. Like velvet laced with smoke.

You swallowed, nerves buzzing like static in your chest. “Yeah. That’s me.”

He looked you over again, slower this time. You noticed how his eyes stayed on your chest for a little longer but Eren Yeager had no shame.

"You nervous?”

“Just a little,” you admitted with a laugh, hugging your arms around yourself.

“Don’t be.” He took a drag, blew smoke toward the ceiling. “Come here.”

You took a cautious step forward.

“You ever been in a studio before?” he asked, nodding toward the equipment.

“Never. First time.” He gestured towards the couch, you wracked up enough courage to move closer to him. You were suprised you hadn’t combust form all the nerves. Those tequila shots did nothing to ease you.

Eren tilted his head as he watched you tug against your skirt. A smirk pulled against his lips as he continued to take a drag from his blunt.

"So, wanna tell me something about you before I play you something?"

"Like what?"

"Anything." He shrugged, "You already know everything about me, probably got some topless photos of me pinned in your room or summin but yet I don't know anything about you."

He grinned when your jaw dropped slightly. You felt your face heat up.

“Okay, wow,” you muttered with a laugh, shaking your head. “Cocky much?”

"Am I wrong?" You didn't even bother answering, smiling softly as you thought about the question.

“I’m a journalism major, full-time server, and part-time Eren Yeager enthusiast,” you said with a little smile. “And yeah… maybe I’m obsessed. But at least I’m not a sellout like that one song you tried to put on Delirium. That bridge was trash.”

Eren blinked.

Then threw his head back and laughed.

“Oh shit,” he said, sitting up straighter, his grin widening. “So you really listen.”

“I don’t play about my music,” you said, lifting a brow.

He stared at you again—this time a little longer, like he was genuinely impressed. He handed you his blunt, biting your lip softly you took a drag before blowing the smoke from your brown painted lips.

Eren wasn't hiding the fact that he was staring; he was shameless, as he followed the way your lips wrapped around the blunt.

"You wanna hear something?"

You nodded enthusiastically, almost burning a hole in the carpet. Eren chuckled at your energy. He gestured for you to stand, his hand wrapping around your waist as he guided you towards the dashboard.

"I want you to press this button when I give you a thumbs up, okay?" Your breathing laboured as his hands gripped your waist once more before stepping into the booth.

You watched as his fingers ran through his hair, he fixed the mic before slipping on the headphones. And then when his eyes met yours, he sent you a thumbs up.

You hit the button, welcoming the soft beat rolled out. The beat already had you swaying your hips softly, and then came his voice. The one you’d heard through blown-out speakers in your room, whispering through your headphones at 3 a.m., echoing across stadium crowds. But this time? It was just for you.

And it went straight to your pussy.

The raspiness of his voice broke out through the speakers of the studio, his eyes never left yours as he sang like he was singing to you.

“You showed up wearin' nothin' but sin on your skin And I ain’t slept since you walked in Say you like it slow, but girl you tempt fate— Now I’m tryna fuck the pretty off your face.”

Your lips parted on instinct, thighs pressing tight together as the words crawled up your spine and lit every nerve. You were literally clutching the edge of the panel like it could ground you—but it didn’t.

Nothing could’ve prepared you for the way he looked at you from behind that glass.

Eren watched your reaction with a satisfied smirk from behind the glass. He didn’t break eye contact once.

“So,” his voice crackled through, “what’d you think?”

You cleared your throat—barely. “You—um… you made that for the album?”

He tilted his head, a smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. “Yeah, but my inspiration was your Instagram.”

Your brain stalled. “Wait—what?”

Eren’s chuckle ran through the studio, “C’mere.”

Your legs moved before your brain could catch up, like they were synced to his voice. You opened the booth door, stepped inside.

He was still standing near the mic, head slightly cocked, that lazy heat in his eyes on full blast now.

"When I found out who'd won I had to see what I was getting into, and colour me surprised when I saw how fucking sexy you are."

Eren…” your voice was a little breathless now.

He stopped right in front of you. His presence was overwhelming.

"I know you like the song, but you know what's missing from my album?" he asked, voice dropping to a whisper.

You blinked up at him, lips parting again. “What?”

His lips grazed your ear as he leaned into you, "Your moans as my backing track."

Your stomach dropped. Your thighs clenched again on instinct. You didn't even have a minute to grasp before his lips met yours in a bruising kiss.

Your hands flew to his chest, grasping against the material of his wife-beater. You couldn't believe this was happening, you touched yourself countless of times to the fantasy of him fucking you and it wasn't just a fantasy anymore.

He growled into your mouth, hands sliding down to grab your hips, dragging you flush against him. You could feel everything—his heat, his hunger, the bulge pressing right into your lower stomach.

“You taste even better than I thought,” he muttered, lips trailing down your jaw.

You gasped when he sucked a bruise into your neck, hips twitching into his. Your fingers pulled against his brown locs, pulling him further into your skin as he continued to mark up your neck.

You moaned softly in his ear as his hands squeezed the fat of your ass underneath your skirt.

"You sound so fucking good, but need you to be louder for the track baby."

He spun you gently but firmly around, pressing your front against the glass. His hand came up to rest on your lower back, the other sliding your hair off your neck.

"You wanna be on a track?" he asked, lips brushing your ear again. “Say my name.”

“Eren…” you breathed.

“Nah, say it.” He pushed his hips forward, just enough to feel him grind against your ass.

“Eren,” you moaned, eyes fluttering shut.

“That’s it.” He kissed down your neck again, hand sliding between your thighs, fingers playing with the edge of your thong before they grazed the outline of your clit.

You whined, pressing your hips back against him. “Eren, please…”

That did something to him, the shift was instant. The way his hands gripped tighter, rougher. His fingers dragged your panties to the side like they offended him.

“Fuck,” he hissed as his fingers found you. “You’re already soaked.”

You couldn’t even answer—your breathing hitched as he slid two fingers between your folds, dragging them up with agonising slowness before circling your clit just once.

“Y’know how hard it was not to pull up to your DMs?” he muttered, curling his fingers so they pressed deep, making you moan into the glass. “Watching all those thirst traps like you weren’t asking to get ruined…”

His fingers worked you open, scissoring just enough to stretch you. Then he curled them again—right there—and you cried out, thighs shaking as you tried not to collapse.

“Say my name again,” he growled, lips hot on your neck.

“Eren—f-fuck, Eren—”

“There she goes.” He smirked, fingers curling just right that it tore a whimper right from your pretty brown lips.

You whined as you clenched around nothing once he took his fingers away from your sopping wet cunt. You watched him from over your shoulder as he dropped to his knees behind you, dragging your skirt up to your waist, licking his lips as he stared at your dripping cunt. “Gotta taste it. Can’t not taste it.”

You gasped when his tongue slid between your folds, flat against your slit as he licked up through your folds, groaning like he was getting high off your taste. He spat on your pussy and licked it right back up, slurping you like it was soup and he hadn’t eaten in days.

“Oh my God—” You gasped, fingers gripping the glass.

He smirked, lips already glossy with your slick. “God ain’t here, baby. Just me and this nasty little pussy.”

His nose pressed into your ass while his tongue slipped inside you, flicking and curling like he was trying to taste your soul. You cried out, legs trembling, and he laughed into your cunt.

“Yeah, run from it—see where that gets you.”

His grip on your thighs tightened as he buried his face deeper, switching from tongue-fucking to devouring your clit. His lips had wrapped around your swollen bud, causing you to scream; he hummed like it was a normal Friday. And it probably was, you knew how he was, but you didn't care. You had Eren Yeager sucking on your clit like his life depended on it.

"Eren, fuck—!" Your head dropped against the glass, one arm reaching up to steady yourself as he licked you deep, tongue curling into your heat while his nose nudged your clit.

He moaned again—loudly—like he couldn’t get enough, the vibrations making you jerk. “Shit, you taste so good baby. Like sin.”

You were gasping, hips twitching, trying to get away and chase more all at once. But he wasn't done. Not even close.

“Gimme that nut,” he muttered against your clit, "be a good girl and cum on my fuckin’ face. C’mon—make it messy.”

Your thighs clenched around his head, pussy gushing all over his tongue—and Eren groaned like it was the best part. He didn’t stop either. Kept slurping through it, chin drenched, letting your slick run down his throat while he sucked every last drop.

Eren stood behind you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, lips still glistening with your cum. His eyes were dark as he licked one last drop from his thumb.

"Sweetest fuckin' thing I've ever had." He rasped.

You barely had a second to breathe before he grabbed your hips causing your back to arch, hands still planted against the glass. One hand slid down the curve of your spine while the other reached between your legs, two fingers sliding through your fold.

“Still fuckin’ leaking,” he groaned. “You want me to ruin you, huh?”

“Yes—fuck, yes,” you gasped, arching back into him.

You heard the sound of his zipper, the rustle of his sweats dropping, you felt his heavy cock landed between your cheeks, already hard, thick, and dripping precum onto your ass. He slid it through your folds--getting it soaked.

You barely heard the sound of the condom wrapper tearing before he lined himself back up, moaning softly at the feeling of his covered cock sliding between your folds.

But Eren didn't give you anytime to adjust before he bullied his way into your cunt.

You screamed, your nails scratching against the glass as his dick split you open in one rough stroke.

“Shit—shit, you’re so fuckin’ tight,” he hissed through gritted teeth, gripping your hips like he was trying not to lose it. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good.”

Eren started moving, slamming into you, hips clapping against your ass in loud, filthy smacks that echoed off the soundbooth walls. Your moans spilled out wild and raw, head spinning as he fucked you like he was tryna rearrange your guts.

“That’s it—take this dick,” he grunted, pounding into you. “Been thinking ‘bout this pussy since I saw your fuckin’ photos. You knew what you were doing. Lookin’ that pretty—like you needed someone to come fuck it outta you.”

Your legs shook, body bouncing with every thrust. He slapped your ass hard, then again, leaving his handprint glowing red before gripping your hair and yanking your head back.

“Yeah, look at you,” he breathed in your ear. “Face all fucked out and I just started.”

He pulled out just enough to see your pussy stretch, glistening and swollen, then shoved it back in with a filthy slap that made you scream.

“That feel good, baby? Huh? You like getting fucked like a slut in my booth?”

“Yes, oh my God, yes, daddy—please,” you cried, eyes rolling back.

He reached around and slapped your clit, rubbing it in tight circles while his dick drove into you with reckless, brutal rhythm. You let out a choked moan at the feeling of tatted his hand around your neck, pulling your head back into an uncomfortable position, but you didn't care.

“Gimme that nut again. Squirt on this dick—I wanna feel it drip down my balls.”

You were already there—legs trembling, throat raw from moaning, and when he delivered another bruising thrust to you, your pussy clenched so hard around him it dragged a growl from his chest. You soaked his cock, your cum spraying down your thighs as he fucked you through it.

“Fuuuck, that’s it, baby, that’s the shit I wanted,” he groaned, hips stuttering.

He grabbed both sides of your ass and snapped his hips forward one last time—deep, so deep—and came with a choked moan, thick ropes of cum filling up the condom. He stayed buried, twitching inside, breath ragged against your shoulder.

Your body sagged against him, eyes fluttering as you came down from your high. Eren left a soft kiss against your neck before pulling out of you.

Your breathing laboured as you felt him pull your skirt back down, turning you over, his fingers ran over your lips before giving you a soft kiss.

"How about I roll another blunt and you ride my dick baby." You looked up at the brunette, knowing that you'd do anything he'd ask. Because how could you say no to Eren Yeager?

Girl, oh my God—his new album just dropped. Go listen to ‘LUST’ like now!!!

Your jaw dropped at the message, fingers fumbling as you unlocked your phone and pulled up Spotify. Sure enough, there it was: Eren Yeager — Sin. Brand new. Top of the charts. And the cover?

The cover made your stomach drop.

“What the—is that me?”

You zoomed in, heart pounding. You knew that ass. You could make out the curve of your ass in that leather skirt you wore that night. Fuck it was you.

You didn’t even hesitate. You scrolled straight to Track 6.

‘Lust’

The beat kicked in slow, dark, heavy, sexy. It hit your body like muscle memory. The same one he played for you, your thighs clenched in memory as the lyrics started to roll out.

But your pussy clenched. That was you. Your breathy moans layered behind the beat, harmonising with his voice. The sound of the wet, messy squelch of your pussy as he fucked you. That high-pitched cry? That was when you came on top of him, shaking like a goddamn leaf.

Your mouth went dry. Your ears burned. Your hand hovered over the pause button—but you didn’t stop it. Couldn’t.

His songs always made you wet.

But hearing yourself get fucked to the rhythm of a platinum-level track?

That was a whole different kind of arousal. You bit your lip, legs trembling as the song ended in one last filthy moan.

A ping brought your attention back to your phone, your fingers clicked onto instagram, eyes widned from your recent DM.

[eren.yeager] So… you tryna come help me work on the next one?

𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘺 𝘮𝘦, 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘢𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 ©

#eren smut #eren yeager #eren x black!reader #eren x black y/n #aot x black y/n #aot smut #eren yeager smut #eren yeager x black reader #black fem reader

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dazevi · 3 months ago

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CHAPTER THREE: CAN WE PRETEND?

heart to heart series | vi x fem!reader

synopsis: you're not sure what comes over you tonight, but caught up in the moment, you make a reckless choice—one that could change everything.

content warnings: MDNI. nsfw (18+ content), angst, fluff if you squint idk, rockstar!vi, bookshop owner/writer!reader, exes to lovers, friends with benefits (kinda), sexual tension, again—vi is down bad, smut; needy sex, oral (r rec.), vi cums untouched, little bit of overstimulation, idk what else !!!

wc: 12,183

notes: happy late late late valentine’s day! (i was supposed to post it on friday but got busy) and sorry for the wait on this chapter! here it is—glorious smut lmfao,, kind of ashamed to say that the next chapter is way more smutty—but ofc with feelings!!!) fanart by bunimint_ on ig !!

navigation | series masterlist | previous chapter

The cold bites at your skin, but you barely even notice it. Not with the way your heart is hammering. Not with the way your nerves are tangled in your stomach. You stand outside Vander’s bar holding a small birthday gift in your hands, staring at the entrance like you haven’t walked through those doors countless times before.

But it’s been years. A lifetime ago, it feels like.

And standing here now, dressed in a pretty black dress you spent way too long debating over—god, what the hell were you thinking?

You tug your jacket tighter around you, like that will somehow make you feel less exposed, less like you’re making a mistake by being here. The leather is warm, but it doesn’t do much to muffle the voice in your head telling you that this was a bad idea.

That coming here, looking like this, feeling like this—it means something.

You used to love this place. Loved the way it always smelled of whiskey and smoke, of cheap beer but distinctly of home.

It’s different now.

Or maybe you’re the one that’s different.

Vi is probably already in there. Maybe she’s backstage, laughing with the band, tuning her guitar, oblivious to the fact that you’re standing out here like a fool, trying to gather the courage to step inside. Maybe she’s already seen you through the window, watching like she always used to—like she could read every thought in your head without you saying a word.

You close your eyes for a second, exhaling slowly. You could still turn around. You don’t have to go in. But then again, you didn’t have to dress up either, and yet… here you are.

The second you step inside, the warmth surrounds you. You hadn’t expected this many people, but clearly, word must have spread that Vi’s band was playing tonight.

Your eyes take a moment to adjust to the dim lighting over the packed room. It’s overwhelming at first—the volume of voices overlapping, the clinking of glasses, the scrape of barstools against worn wooden floors. But then, beneath all of it, you hear Benzo’s boisterous voice cutting through the noise, followed by Vander’s throaty laughter.

It’s been years since you’ve been here, but nothing has really changed. The same old neon signs flicker against the brick walls, the dartboard near Vander’s glowing jukebox is still crooked, the pool table in the corner still missing a chunk from one of its legs, and behind the bar, bottles of liquor line the shelves, arranged in the same way Vander has always kept them.

And Vi is somewhere in here.

Your stomach twists at the thought, your heartbeat quickening as you scan the crowd.

Just as you’re about to turn toward the small stage, the sound of your name cuts through the noise.

“Is that really you?”

You barely have a second to react before a blur of blue rushes toward you, and suddenly, Powder is there, beaming up at you with wide, disbelieving eyes.

She looks different—older, maybe a tad bit taller—but the same excitement, the same energy, radiates off of her like it always has. Her hair is longer now, pulled back into two twin buns with trimmed bangs covering her forehead.

She doesn’t wait for confirmation before throwing her arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug that nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.

“Oh my god, it is you!” she laughs against your shoulder, squeezing you tighter. “I can’t believe it! When Vi said you might come tonight, I didn’t think—I mean, I hoped—but holy shit!”

You let out a breathy laugh, arms instinctively wrapping around her. It’s been years since you’ve seen her—since she left for college, since everything with Vi fell apart—but somehow, it feels like no time has passed at all.

When she finally pulls back, she holds you at arm’s length, her hands gripping your shoulders as she looks you over, like she’s trying to make sure you’re actually standing there in front of her and not some trick of the lighting.

“You look amazing,” she gushes, her eyes shining, before huffing playfully, shaking her head. “I mean, seriously—wow. Vi didn’t tell me you still looked like this. She’s soooooo in trouble.”

You blink at her words, your breath hitching slightly, but before you can even begin to unpack what that means, Powder grabs your hand, tugging you towards the bar.

“Come on, you have to catch me up,” she insists, grinning ear to ear. “How have you been? What are you doing back here? Wait, how did Vi even convince you to show up tonight?”

Your lips part, but you hesitate, glancing toward the stage. You still haven’t seen Vi yet, but now, with Powder in front of you, talking a mile a minute, you realize just how much you’ve missed this—her.

“Powder, slow down,” you laugh, grinning from ear to ear as you shake your head. “It’s really good to see you too.”

She beams, squeezing your hand once before looping her arm through yours like she used to when you were all younger.

“Dad, look who’s here!” Powder calls out, cutting through the music and chatter as she drags you toward the bar.

Vander stands behind the counter, just like he always used to, one large hand resting on the counter, the other holding a glass he’s in the middle of drying. He looks up at Powder’s voice, eyes darting toward the two of you.

His lips curve into something between a smile and a look of pure surprise. He sets the glass down, wiping his hands on a bar towel as he steps around the counter.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Vander murmurs, taking you in. His voice is just as you remember it—gruff but warm. “Look who finally decided to show her face.”

“Hi, Vander,” you say, your voice softer than you mean it to be.

He huffs out a chuckle, shaking his head before pulling you into a firm hug.

“You don’t gotta be shy, kid,” he says, patting your back like he used to when you were just a teenager sitting at this very bar, waiting for Vi to finish whatever dumb stunt she was getting up to. “Hell, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too,” you murmur.

When he pulls back, he looks you over, eyes full of something fond.

“You look good,” he says, before glancing at Powder with a smirk. “She givin’ you trouble yet?”

You laugh, shaking your head as Powder scoffs, crossing her arms. “Me? Trouble? Never.”

Vander chuckles, ruffling her hair before looking back at you with that same fatherly warmth that makes your chest ache.

“Vi’s gonna lose her damn mind when she sees you.”

And just like that, your heart flutters all over again.

Vander studies you for a moment, his gaze settling on yours like he can hear every thought running through your head. But he doesn’t push, doesn’t pry. Instead, he gives you one last reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before nodding toward the bar.

“Well, since you’re here, let me get you a drink,” he says. “On the house. Benzo!”

Powder grins, practically bouncing on her boots as she gestures to the small, neatly wrapped gift in your hands.

“Come on, I’ll put that gift over with the others!” she chirps, already reaching for it before you can protest.

The chatter dies down slightly as movement stirs toward the stage, conversations dipping into hushed murmurs. People turn their attention forward, waiting patiently as the band gets into place.

Vi stands in the center of the stage, tuning her guitar beside an amp, fingers practiced as she twists the tuning pegs, testing each note. She’s glowing, that pink of her bright against the light, also outlining the sharp angles of her jaw, the curve of her cheekbones, the ink that winds down her arms and up the side of her neck.

She looks really fucking good. Dressed in a snug black shirt that clings just right, showing off the sculpted muscle in her arms, the broad set of her shoulders. The sleeves are pushed up slightly, just enough to expose the edge of her tattoos. Paired with a pair of baggy jeans that sit low on her hips, the waistband of her boxers showing every time her shirt shifts upward slightly as she moves—

—God, you have got to get yourself together.

But even despite how cool she looks up there, there’s a pout pressed against her lips, so slight that most people wouldn’t even notice.

But you do.

Because you’ve seen that pout before.

It’s the same one she used to wear when she was waiting for you after class and you took too long saying goodbye to your friends. The same one she had when you were late to meet her for a movie, arms crossed as she huffed dramatically before breaking into a grin the second she saw you. The same one she’d wear when you teased her by refusing to kiss her.

And now, up on stage, she’s wearing it again.

Because she hasn’t seen you yet.

You swallow, suddenly hyper-aware of yourself. Of how you look, of how this dress looks on you, of the way your heartbeat has picked up.

You shouldn’t be this affected—you shouldn’t.

And then—just as she adjusts the strap of her guitar, rolling her shoulders back, her eyes sweeping slowly over the room, over the crowd, then towards the bar—

She finds you.

Her fingers still against the strings, her whole body tensing just slightly. Her lips part, eyes locking onto yours.

And then, just like that, her pout is gone, smoothed over with the faintest, laziest smirk.

You feel your stomach flutter.

Before you can fully process it, Ekko steps up to the mic, patting Vi on the shoulder, grinning out at the crowd.

Behind them, Steb is adjusting his drum stool and Loris, stands off to the side, his bass slung low, a cigarette tucked behind his ear as he watches the crowd with that same unreadable look he always has, like none of this phases him in the slightest.

Ekko leans into the mic, flashing a charming smirk towards the crowd smirk.

“Alright, alright, settle down,” he teases, though he’s clearly reveling in the attention, in the love the crowd is throwing at them. He lets the cheers die down just a little before continuing, “First off, gotta give a huge shoutout to the man who means the absolute world to me. Happy birthday, old man!”

The bar erupts into another round of cheers, laughter echoing through the room as Benzo raises his glass.

“I love you, Benzo!” Ekko adds, placing a hand over his chest in mock sincerity.

Vi chuckles beside him, shaking her head as she ducks slightly, her pink hair falling forward as she looks down for a second.

Your stomach twists as you watch her, taking in the way her fingers flex against the neck of her guitar, the way she glances at Ekko with that lopsided smirk before finally lifting her head again, pink strands shifting as she looks back out at the crowd.

And just for a second—so brief you almost miss it—her eyes fall back to you.

Ekko claps his hands together. “Alright, enough of the mushy shit. Let’s get this started, yeah?”

And the crowd cheers again.

The music begins, the first chords ringing out as Vi’s fingers find the strings of her guitar. The sound of the crowd fades into the background as she leans into the mic.

Every time her gaze sweeps over the bar, her heart skips a beat when she catches sight of you. You’re there, standing at the edge of the crowd, watching. Watching her. And god, it makes her feel alive. She can feel the heat rising in her chest, spreading down her arms, making her fingertips tingle as she strums the next chord. She can’t stop glancing at you, her smile widening every time your gaze meets hers.

She wants to impress.

She really fucking does.

And every time Vi steals a glance your way, her heart beats faster. It’s almost like the music fades and the room shrinks down until all she can focus on is you.

You look so damn good. Your dress is simple but it fits you perfectly, so prettily. The soft glow of the stage lights catches the curve of your neck, the way your hair falls just perfectly, and god—god—she’s getting distracted.

The thought crosses her mind before she can stop it—did you dress up for her? It’s silly, of course, but it flares in her chest anyway.

But then, before she can let herself spiral too far into that thought, she sees you again.

You came. You actually came.

I mean, you told her you would, but right now, she can’t stop smiling. She’s so fucking happy you’re here.

The set ends after an hour.

It wasn’t too long, but the crowd erupts into applause anyway, cheers and shouts and whistles echoing throughout room, although Vi didn’t really think much of it. She’s still buzzing, the tips of her fingers still tingling from the friction of the strings, but she didn’t care about it.

She doesn’t wait for the others. Ekko and Loris are already heading backstage, Steb cracking his knuckles as he follows, but Vi’s eyes are locked on you.

She doesn’t even care about the after show rituals—the sweaty gear, the backroom chatter—because right now, all she can think about is how badly she wants to get to you.

It doesn’t take long to find you. You’re sitting with Powder, a bright smile on your face, talking to Vander and Benzo at the counter.

And then, when she’s just a few feet away, you look up.

She opens her mouth, trying to say something—anything—but the words won’t come. She’s not sure why she’s so nervous now.

“Hey,” she says softly as she looks down at the counter, then back up at you. “You made it.”

Her smile is soft, almost shy, and she watches you carefully, her heart is pounding in her chest.

“I told you I would,” you reply warmly.

Vi nods softly and just stands there, her heart pounding in her chest, suddenly unsure of herself, the words slipping out of her mouth before she can fully think them through.

“You look… you look really good.”

It’s quieter than she meant it to be, but it’s honest. She can’t help it. She’s been trying not to let herself be completely consumed by the way you look tonight, but there’s really no stopping it. You do look amazing.

And she watches you closely, trying not to let her nervousness show too much, but it’s hard to hide the slight tremor in her voice.

Before you can even respond, Powder bursts in, her voice high and teasing as she slides up beside Vi and throws an arm around her shoulders, nearly knocking her off balance.

“Vi!” she says, her grin practically splitting her face, as she begins to tease her in hushed whispers, something about you coming tonight, maybe how nervous she was.

But Vi doesn’t flinch, doesn’t break her gaze from you. Her attention stays completely on you, even as Powder hugs her excitedly, laughing. Her focus is elsewhere. It’s on you. It’s always been on you.

For a moment, she almost wishes it was just the two of you in this room—no distractions, no people, no laughter, no teasing from an overly excited litle sister, just you and her.

Before either of you can speak, Powder pulls away from Vi, spinning on her heel as she looks around the bar.

“Say, where’s Ekko?” she asks. “I��ve got to go give him a talk about giving Isha the wrong cat food earlier.”

Without waiting for anyone to respond, she darts off into the crowd, running on pure energy that never seems to run out. You watch her blue hair disappear into the mix of people, the playful laugh she lets out fading as she vanishes.

Vi stands there, staring at you. There’s so much she wants to say, so much she’s been holding back for what feels like forever, but the words just don’t come.

“You guys sounded really great up there,” you say gently.

Her heart skips. She blinks, almost startled, and before she can stop herself, her lips curve into a wide, genuine grin, the pride swelling in her chest. She straightens slightly, shoulders relaxing just a little as her eyes soften.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, eyes glued to the way your tongue smooths over your bottom lip. “It, uh… feels good to be playing again… Here, I mean. At home.”

You smile again, and for a second, Vi forgets how to breathe.

“I bet it does,” you say, keeping your voice light. “I mean, I would have been disappointed if you weren’t any good.”

Vi chuckles at that. “Well, I couldn’t let you down. I’ve got a reputation to maintain, after all.”

“You’re being cocky,” you raise an eyebrow at her.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she says quietly.

Vi swallows hard, trying her best to stay calm, but being with you like this, well, it catches her off guard.

“I’m glad you came tonight,” she smiles softly. “I really am.”

And she’s grateful. Very grateful that she gets to see you, to be with you like this, even though you weren’t really hers anymore.

She spent the rest of the night glued to your side like she’s afraid to let you slip away, her body leaning just a little too close whenever you’re talking to someone else.

It’s a subtle thing, the way she gravitates toward you, like there’s an invisible thread pulling her in, towards you each and every time.

Vander, Benzo, Powder, and the rest of the band surround you, laughing and teasing, recounting old stories from their countless gigs, but Vi isn’t really paying attention to any of that. Not when you’re sitting next to her, not when you’re wearing that dress.

The fabric fits your curves so perfectly, but it’s your legs that keep pulling her attention.

Every time you move slightly, every time you cross or uncross them, the way your thighs peek out, just enough to tease—Vi can’t tear her eyes away. It feels almost too much—like she’s seeing you in a way she hasn’t allowed herself to in a long time. She tries to focus on the conversations, on the laughter and the jokes being tossed around, but it’s impossible to ignore the way her body reacts every time you move right next to her, every time she catches a glimpse of your skin.

Her gaze moves back to you again, almost instinctively, and her breath catches just for a second when your eyes meet hers, that soft smile of yours playing at your lips.

“Vi,” Powder says, nudging her with an elbow. “Earth to Vi? You’ve been dozing out over there for a while.”

Vi blinks, shaking her head and forcing herself to focus on the others. She smiles, though, a little embarrassed, and laughs it off, trying to shrug it off as a joke.

“Sorry, just got distracted for a second,” she says, but her eyes dart back to you before the words are even fully out.

She can’t help it. You’ve always had that effect on her—always able to pull her in, even when you don’t mean to.

And when you laugh, when you lean forward to talk to Powder, it sends a shiver down her spine. She can’t stop herself from thinking about how much she’s missed this. How much she’s missed being with her family. How much she’s missed being with you.

Her heart beats faster in her chest.

She wants to reach out and touch you. To kiss you. To touch you in places people aren’t allowed to see. She wants to say something, but every word gets stuck in her throat.

And throughout the rest of the night, you could feel her eyes on you.

It’s not just her glances you notice, but the way her posture shifts when you move, the tension in her shoulders when she’s close to you, like she’s trying to keep herself in check, but her body betrays her every time.

It makes your heart race. You can feel her eyes on you, even when you’re not looking at her. It’s impossible to ignore. The way her attention feels so intense, the way she’s so obviously drawn to you, despite all the people around you.

And you start to wonder if coming here tonight was a good idea after all.

It’s silly, isn’t it? You came because Vi had asked you to. Because you couldn’t say no to her.

You force yourself to look away, focusing on Powder and Vander’s laughter, on Benzo’s loud voice cutting through the noise, but you can still feel it. And every time your eyes meet, she looks away just a little too quickly, like she’s afraid of being caught.

You glance at her again, and this time, she doesn’t look away quickly enough. Her eyes catch yours, and you see it clearly. Vi hasn’t really changed that much. She was still Vi. Still the girl you once loved, and maybe, in some strange way, still the girl you might love again—

God, what are you talking about?

Is that what this is?

Is that what she wants too?

You force yourself to look away, focusing back on the chatter around you.

Was this a mistake? You didn’t know that answer to that.

All you knew was that it was clear Vi wanted you.

And you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want her, too.

It gets pretty late into the night when the drinks, as light as they were, started to settle in, a warm flush spreading across your cheeks.

It’s not enough to make you drunk—nothing like that—but enough to make your limbs feel a little heavier, your eyelids a little more droopy than they were earlier in the evening.

You glance around the table, taking in the chatter of old friends, the lighthearted teasing and laughter, the way Powder is leaning into Ekko’s side while Benzo and Vander talk shop at the counter. It was soothing to be here and spending time with them.

But your body is tired, and as much as you don’t want to leave, you know it’s probably time.

You stand up slowly, feeling the slight unsteadiness in your legs, the gentle sway of the room, but you brush it off. You pull your jacket on, the cool leather against your skin reminding you of the chilly air waiting for you outside. You catch Powder’s eye, giving her a soft smile as she looks over at you, but she’s too wrapped up in a conversation with Ekko to notice how tired you’ve become.

“I should probably get going,” you say softly.

Your words are met with a series of warm and friendly goodbyes, but there’s something in the air now that you can’t ignore.

Maybe it’s the way you’ve been trying not to meet Vi’s eyes, the way you’ve felt her gaze on you all night.

But you turn to her finally and say, “Bye, Vi.”

She freezes. She doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, her lips parting as if she wants to say something—anything—but the words get stuck somewhere inside her all over again.

She doesn’t get anything out before you turn on your heel to walk out of the door.

Then, out of nowhere, Ekko elbows Vi lightly.

“Seriously?” he murmurs under his breath, though it’s loud enough for her to hear.

Vi blinks rapidly, snapping out of her trance, and before she can even register what’s happening, she looks up. She turns to the rest of the group, and to her surprise, the entire crew is watching her. Powder, Benzo, Vander—they’re all grinning, urging her with their eyes.

“Go!” Powder mouths.

And just like that, she just moves.

She grabs her jacket and practically runs, pushing past the tables and chairs, her heart pounding louder and louder.

But just as she reaches the door, her foot catches awkwardly on the edge something, and soon, she’s stumbling, the world tipping sideways before she crashes forward. Her head hits the doorframe with a sharp thud, and for a second, everything is disorienting.

And you hear it—the sound of Vi groaning behind you. You freeze, your heart leaping into your throat.

“Violet?!” you call out.

Vi’s still on the ground, her hand pressed against her forehead, trying to push herself up. Her face scrunches in mild discomfort, but as her eyes meet yours, she lets out a small, breathy laugh, shaking her head.

“I’m fine,” she says softly as she rubs her forehead where it collided with the doorframe.

Her eyes dart up to you, and she offers a sheepish smile. You can’t stop the small laugh that bubbles up in your throat. Your heart is still racing as you move toward her.

“Are you sure—”

“I’m okay, really,” she says again.

She reaches up, brushing her hair from her face, trying to play off the moment. You offer her your hand, your fingers brushing hers as you help her to her feet. She doesn’t let go immediately, her fingers lingering against yours for a moment longer than necessary.

“I… I wanted to catch you before you left,” Vi catches her breath. “Are you walking home?”

“Y-Yeah,” you finally say quietly. “It’s not too far.”

You motion vaguely toward the street, but it’s clear that the idea of walking back alone, in the late hour, with the chill creeping in, doesn’t sit quite right with you either.

“My truck’s at the back,” she says. “I’ll drive you.”

You blink, caught off guard for a moment. And before you can stop yourself, you start to protest, a gentle laugh slipping from your lips as you take a small step back.

“Oh, it’s fine, Vi. I don’t mind the walk. It’s not that far, really.” You try to brush it off, not wanting to be any more of a burden than you already feel like you are.

But she doesn’t let you get far.

“I’m driving you,” she repeats.

It’s not a suggestion. It’s not a question. It’s just fact.

You could argue, but there’s something about the way she looks at you, the way her eyes are so steady, so intent, that makes your inner protests feel futile.

So for once, you don’t argue.

“Fine,” you say softly, a smile tugging at the edges of your words.

Vi leads you toward the back lot where her old truck is parked, the cool night air settling over your skin as you follow a few steps behind her.

When you reach the truck, she moves ahead without hesitation, reaching for the handle and pulling the door open for you. It’s a small thing, but it catches you off guard—she does it like it’s second nature, like she’s done it a million times before. Well, she probably has.

You hesitate for a second, looking at her. Her pink hair is a little messy, strands falling over her forehead, but she doesn’t push them back. She just stands there, her hand still on the door, waiting for you.

“Thanks,” you murmur softly.

Vi just nods, not saying anything as you step up into the seat. She closes the door gently behind you, and a second later, she’s rounding the front of the truck, pulling herself into the driver’s side.

The engine stars, and Vi adjusts the rearview mirror before glancing over at you. You can tell that she has more that she wants to say, but instead, she just puts the truck into drive, her fingers flexing around the wheel before she finally pulls out of the lot.

The drive is quiet.

Not awkward, not tense—just quiet.

The road stretches ahead, the glow of streetlights passing in a blur, fleeting shadows across Vi’s face. Her jaw is set, a hand steady on the wheel, but inside the truck, everything feels so quiet.

You watch her from the corner of your eye, the way her fingers tap lightly against the wheel, the way she lets out a slow breath, like she’s thinking about something she won’t say out loud.

You shift slightly in your seat, your hands resting in your lap, feeling the warmth of the heater kicking in against your legs. You should say something—maybe thank her again, maybe fill the silence with small talk, maybe ask her again how long she’s staying in town, how long her break is, when she’s leaving again—but for some reason, you don’t.

You just sit there.

Eventually, the truck slows to a stop in front of your apartment building, the engine humming for a moment before Vi shifts into park and shutting the engine off. The street is quiet at this hour, the street lamps casting long shadows across the sidewalk, everything outside the window felt frozen.

She doesn’t say anything at first, just grips the wheel, her fingers flexing slightly before she finally moves, unbuckling her seatbelt.

Before you can protest—before you can even tell her that she doesn’t have to—she’s already stepping out, rounding the front of the truck with long strides. She opens your door for you again, and when you step down, you can feel how warm she is, close enough that you have to force yourself not to lean into it.

Then, she walks you up to your apartment door, taking the elevator, her steps slower now, like she’s drawing out the last few moments before she has to leave.

You fish your keys out of your bag, fingers brushing over the familiar metal as you try to ignore the way your heart is beating too fast.

But Vi… she just watches.

She’s standing a step behind you, hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket, her body tense like she’s holding herself back from something.

And she is.

Because she doesn’t want to leave.

Not when she’s spent the entire night thinking about you, stealing glances at you across the bar, admiring how the lighting made your skin glow, how your lips curled into that gorgeous smile she fell in love with—that she’s still in love with. Not when you looked so damn good in that dress, when all she’s wanted, since the second she saw you tonight, was to touch you, to press her lips against yours and see if you’d melt into her the way you used to.

Not when she still wants you.

But she doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move.

She just stares, her jaw clenched slightly, her pink hair falling into her face as she tilts her head down, eyes darting between your face and your hands as you struggle with the keys.

She should say something. She should tell you goodnight, make some stupid joke to break the tension, turn and walk away before she does something reckless. Because every single part of her is screaming at her to stay, to close the space between you, to reach out and touch you the way she’s been dying to all night. To press you against that door and kiss you until she forgets where she ends and you begin.

She just bites the inside of her cheek, waiting—hoping—you’ll give her a reason not to go.

You finally find the right key, fingers brushing over the familiar grooves, you slot it into the door but you don’t turn it just yet.

Vi hasn’t moved, hasn’t said anything, and when you glance up at her, she’s still staring—not in an absentminded way… No, she’s simply watching you, like she’s trying to memorize every single detail.

Your throat feels tight, but you push through it, offering her a soft smile, one that feels a little shy.

“Thank you for inviting me out tonight,” you say quietly.

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” she murmurs, almost hushed. “I—”

She stops, exhales through her nose, rubs a hand against the back of her neck before shaking her head, like she’s sorting through whatever thoughts are running wild in her head.

“I wanted you to come.”

You don’t know what to say to that, not when she’s looking at you like this, like she means it, like tonight actually mattered to her.

You swallow, gripping your keys a little tighter, trying to ignore the way your fingers tremble slightly.

“Still,” you say softly, meeting her gaze. “It was… nice.”

She looks at you like she wants to say more, like there’s so much more left to be said between you two, but she doesn’t say it.

Instead, she just nods, stepping just a fraction closer, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off her, close enough that if you tilted your chin just slightly, you’d be right there—right within reach.

And for the first time tonight, you realize you don’t want to step away.

Vi moves slightly, her hands still buried in the pockets of her jacket, like she’s physically stopping herself from reaching out. But her eyes tell a different story. They flicker over your face, down to your lips for the briefest second before settling back on yours.

“I… I wanna see you again,” she says quietly, almost desperately.

You freeze, the key still in your hand, but now the door feels so far away. Vi’s voice rings in your ears, and as you stand there, your mind spins.

You know what she means by those words.

You’ve already been seeing her as the weeks go by. As a friend—she came in to help with your bookshop, invited you out tonight. And now—now she’s expecting something more with you.

And you’re scared of that. Terrified, actually.

You can’t do this again. You won’t survive it.

You’ve lived through her absence, through the silence, through the distance. You’ve been holding your breath for years. You’ll expect her to leave the same way she did, promising you she’ll never forget you, that she’ll come home soon, she’ll call. You’ve already lived through it.

And soon, she’ll be leaving again. Once her break is over, she’ll be gone.

And whatever she wanted build with you now, you expect all of that to be gone the moment she is.

“Vi… I’ve been thinking about it for a while now… and I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you say, almost as if you’re talking to yourself, trying to convince yourself that this is the right decision. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t look at her as you speak, afraid that if you do, you’ll see the hope in her eyes, and it will break you.

Vi’s heart sinks at your words. But she doesn’t look away. She doesn’t argue.

Instead, she stands there, eyes locked onto the side of your face, refusing to let the space between you become any bigger than it already is.

She wants to say something—wants to convince you, to make you see that this time could be different, that she can be different.

But the words won’t come. They’re stuck somewhere inside her, tangled up with the fear of losing you again, with the ache of wanting you close, even knowing that you might not feel the same.

So instead of speaking, she just stands there, her hands still in her pockets, her chest rising and falling with every shallow breath she takes. Her gaze never wavers from yours, even as it breaks her inside to see the hesitation in your eyes. She doesn’t want to push. She doesn’t want to make it harder for you.

But god, she wants to be near you.

She wants you so fucking bad.

She wants you to say yes.

The lump in your throat feels like it’s made of stone as you swallow. Your hands tremble slightly as you stand there, staring at the door, tears already threatening to roll down your cheeks.

You can feel her eyes on you, searching, waiting for something, and you know—you know that she’s holding onto the edge of whatever this is.

But you can’t do this.

So, you say it quickly, almost too quickly.

“Goodnight, Vi.”

You can hear the hesitation in your own voice, the way it cracks just a little, as if you’re trying to make the decision for both of you.

You don’t wait for her to reply. You don’t give her the chance to stop you, to pull you back into her. You push the door open just a little more and step inside, slamming it behind you.

On the other side of the door, Vi stands completely still. She doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, just stares at the space where you were. Her heart is pounding, your words still burning in her chest, but she doesn’t turn away. She doesn’t walk away. She stays in place, her eyes glued to the spot where you had been standing, as if she’s waiting for you to come back.

The sound of your footsteps on the other side of the door is faint, but it might as well be a symphony in her ears. Her hand reaches up slowly to knock, almost without thinking, like she’s trying to hold onto the last of the warmth that came from being so close to you, from having you near her again.

But it’s only cold now.

She doesn’t know how long she stands there, doesn’t know how much time passes as she waits, hoping—just for a moment—that you might open the door again, that you might step back out and say that it wasn’t over, that it was just a misunderstanding.

But the longer she stands there, the more she realizes how hopeless that hope is, how much she’s already lost.

She almost turns on her heel to leave, the cold night air pressing in on her, but then—then—the sound of the door opening again stops her in her tracks.

You’re standing in the doorway.

For a split second, she doesn’t know what to expect. Her heart skips, and the breath she was holding catches in her throat.

“H-Hey,” Vi breathes out, her eyes widening. “Are you—”

Then, you move quickly, almost. You step up to her, and before Vi can make sense of it all, your hands are on her shoulders, and you’re standing on your tiptoes, and before she can breathe, before she can even think, your lips are on hers.

And holy fuck. Holy. Fuck. Holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck holy— Is she dreaming? Are you really kissing her right now? Or did she really hit her head that hard?

Vi’s whole body freezes at first. It’s quick, but it’s enough to make her world tilt on its axis. She’s barely aware of what’s happening, of how she instinctively wraps her arms around you, pulling you closer. Her hands find their way to your waist, holding you gently.

She doesn’t want to pull away. She doesn’t want to let go of of you, not when it feels like you’ve come back to her. Her arms tighten around you, and she groans into your mouth, feeling the warmth of your body press against hers like she’s trying to make sure you’re really here.

Vi doesn’t think—she doesn’t have time to.

The second your lips press back into hers, everything else fades and she cant see anything else but you. She deepens the kiss, her hands squeezing roughly at your waist, pulling you impossibly close like she’s afraid you might slip through her fingers again if she lets even an inch of space come between you.

You respond just as eagerly, softly moaning into against her lips, your fingers fisting into the fabric of her jacket, pulling her forward like you can’t stand the distance either. Your body presses into hers, soft where she’s firm, delicate where she’s rough, and it only makes her want you more.

The kiss turns messy—more tongue, more teeth, like neither of you can get enough.

Vi doesn’t realize she’s walking forward until she feels you stumble slightly, your hands gripping onto her arms for balance. She guides you backwards, step by step, her lips never leaving yours as she pushes you back into your apartment. And with one firm kick of her foot, the door swings shut behind you both.

The moment the door clicks into place, she moves quickly—gripping your hips as she turns you, pressing you firmly against the solid wood making you gasp against her mouth, a quiet, breathless sound that sends a rush of heat straight through her.

Vi exhales sharply, pulling away from your lips only slightly to breathe, pressing her palms flat against the door on either side of your head, caging you in without a single inch of space between you. She can feel your breath against her lips, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you both try to catch up with what’s happening.

But then, as she leans in again, ready to kiss you breathless, she sees you.

Your eyes, wide and glistening, your lips swollen from the kiss, your breaths coming out in soft little gasps. And the trail of tears… still visible on your cheeks.

Vi’s stomach clenches.

Her chest tightens as she reaches up without thinking, brushing the pad of her thumb against your cheek, just beneath where the tears had dried. You don’t pull away, but you don’t meet her gaze either. You just stand there, still breathing hard, your hands still clinging to her jacket like you need something to hold onto.

Vi swallows hard, her fingers still lingering on your cheek, and she lets herself look at you—really look at you.

And it feels like a fucking punch to her stomach, a hard one, because you are still so beautiful, even like this.

And, she doesn’t know if she’s supposed to be here. If she’s supposed to be kissing you like this, touching you like this.

But when your eyes finally meet hers again, she knows one thing for sure.

She doesn’t want to let you go.

Vi opens her mouth, barely forming the words before you beat her to it.

“Vi,” you whisper softly. “I-If we do this… if we do this, we can’t commit.”

She blinks, once, twice, her breath still uneven from the way she’d just had you pressed against the door, her lips still tingling from kissing you like she had been starving for it. Her hands are still on you, one hand against your cheek, and another on your waist, her thumb ghosting over the curve of your hip.

“What?” Vi’s voice is barely more than breath.

You look up at her and she sees the hesitation in your eyes, the way you swallow thickly before you even attempt to explain.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t even breathe. Because out of everything she expected you to say, this wasn’t it.

No commitment.

The words press into Vi’s chest like something sharp, something cruel, something that shouldn’t hurt as much as it does—but god, it does.

Her mind races, trying to make sense of what you mean, of why you’d say that after everything. After the way you kissed her, after the way you ran back out that door.

No commitment.

Did you think she’d leave again? Did you really think she’d break your heart a second time?

Vi swallows, her throat tight, her fingers twitching against you.

“What do you mean?” she whispers, careful, like she’s afraid if she says it too loud, you’ll pull away completely.

But she already knows.

She knows what you mean. She knows exactly what you’re saying without even having to hear the rest of it.

You don’t trust her. Not with your heart.

And fuck, she wants to argue again, she wants to tell you she’s different, that she wouldn’t leave you alone this time, that she would stay, that she wants to stay.

But you’re looking at her like you’re waiting for her to fight it, and she suddenly realizes—maybe you need this.

Maybe you need to believe that thi won’t be anything more than what it is tonight.

Maybe you need to protect yourself from what loving her again might do to you.

Vi’s jaw clenches, her hands tightening ever so slightly where they rest against your waist. She should say something. She wants to fucking say something.

You hold Vi’s gaze, your breath still uneven, your heart pounding so loudly it feels like it might drown out your own words. You don’t want to say it—you really don’t—but you force yourself to. Because if you don’t, if you let her look at you like that for a second longer, you might break.

“We just… we can’t do it,” you say, barely above a whisper. “We can’t pretend like we can just pick up where we left off, Vi. You’re still you—you have your whole life out there that you have to get back to, your career, your band, and I…”

You pause, exhaling slowly, pressing yourself back against the door.

“I can’t go through it again.”

Vi’s breath hitches in her throat.

But you see it—the way your words hit her, the way her fingers tighten slightly at your waist before she forces them to loosen, like she’s reminding herself to be gentle with you. Like she’s reminding herself that she did this.

That she gave you a reason not to trust her.

She wets her lips, blinking once, twice, all over again as if she was trying to process what you’re saying. But you can see the protest in her eyes. You can see how much she wants to protest, to tell you that you’re wrong.

“So… what?” she asks roughly. “You just want this to be… casual?”

You hesitate. You don’t want to call it that. It feels wrong, too small, too insignificant to name what’s happening between you.

Because it’s not insignificant. It never has been.

But you can’t give her what she wants.

So you force yourself to nod.

“Yeah,” you whisper.

Vi stares at you, and it’s hard to read her face now, but you know her well enough to see the way her jaw tenses, the way she presses her tongue against the inside of her cheek like she’s trying to hold something back.

She looks down for a second, her hands still resting at your waist, and when she speaks again, her voice is quieter.

“You… you want me to pretend that this—” she exhales, shaking her head just slightly, like she can’t believe she’s even saying it, “—that you don’t mean anything to me?”

Your chest tightens, and for a second, you almost cave.

“Vi…” You say her name softly, and it’s enough to make her close her eyes, her head tipping forward like she’s bracing herself for impact.

You bite your lip, shifting under her gaze, but you don’t deny it.

“I want something safe,” you say instead.

Vi stares at you longingly.

She runs a hand through her hair, exhaling a bitter laugh, shaking her head as she looks at you.

“Safe,” she echoes, like she’s tasting the word on her tongue, trying to decide how it makes her feel.

She knows exactly how it makes her feel.

It fucking hurts.

Because when it comes to you, Vi has never wanted safe.

She’s only ever wanted everything.

But she looks at you now and she can see the hesitation in your eyes, the way you’re holding yourself like you’re waiting for her to fight you, to push, to promise something she might not be able to keep.

And, Vi realizes that you probably need this boundary.

That this is the only way you know how to let her in without risking losing yourself in her all over again.

So she takes a slow breath, lets it settle in her chest before she speaks.

“Okay.”

You blink, like you weren’t expecting her to agree so easily.

“Okay?”

Vi nods, keeping her face straight and stoic.

“Okay,” she repeats, quieter this time.

She watches the way your lips part slightly, the way your breath catches, and fuck, she could kiss you again right now. Could prove to you that whatever this is—whatever it’s turning into—isn’t just something temporary for her.

That it never was.

But instead, she just looks at you, nods once more, and says, “I can do that.”

And she knows for sure if it’s a lie.

You can feel her breathing against you, warm and uneven, her body still so close. Your breath shudders, your fingers twitching at your sides.

You don’t know how to tell her that you’re just as scared, that this—whatever it is—is already starting to feel like something dangerous, something that might swallow you whole.

So instead, you do the only thing you can do.

You lift your hands, slowly, hesitantly, and brush your fingers over the sides of her face, over the sharp line of her jaw, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath your touch. Vi lets out a breath, and when you tilt your head slightly, your lips barely a breath away from hers, she doesn’t pull back.

She doesn’t run.

Neither do you.

And before she can say another word, before she can question it, you kiss her again.

Vi doesn’t hesitate this time.

The moment your lips crash against hers, she melts into it, melts into you. Her fingers tighten at your waist, pulling you impossibly close, like she needs to feel every inch of you against her. She’s warm, burning, her body radiating heat as she kisses you deeper, rougher, her teeth grazing your bottom lip before she soothes the sting with her tongue. A quiet moan escapes your throat, and that’s all it takes for Vi to lose whatever restraint she had left.

She cages you in again, her palms flat against the wood on either side of your head, her breath uneven as she pulls back just slightly. Not enough to create distance—just enough to look at you again.

She studies you, the way your fingers clutch at her jacket like you don’t want her to go anywhere, and for a brief moment, she wonders—is this what you need?

Because Vi doesn’t think she can just pretend.

She doesn’t think she can hold you like this, kiss you like this, and not want all of you.

But maybe… maybe right now, this is enough.

So instead of saying something that will ruin it, instead of pushing for something you aren’t ready to give, Vi does what she knows best.

She leans in again, slower this time, her lips brushing. Her hands move to your waist, then up your sides, fingers ghosting over your ribs before sliding down the the hem of your dress, slipping under the fabric to grasp at your thighs. She doesn’t rush—she takes her time, savoring the way your body reacts to her touch, how you shiver slightly beneath her hands.

“You sure about this?” she asks.

You nod, barely a whisper of movement, your hands sliding up her chest, over her strong shoulders, fingers curling into the soft fabric of her shirt.

“Yeah,” you whisper back.

One moment, you’re standing there, breathless, and the next, Vi is crashing into you, her lips slanting against yours.

You gasp against her mouth, and Vi grips you tighter, her strong hands sliding down, catching the backs of your thighs before lifting you up. You gasp, but your body reacts on instinct, your legs wrapping around her waist, arms winding around her shoulders as she holds you up with ease.

And, the way she holds you—firm, steady, possessive—makes the heat coil in your stomach.

She doesn’t stop kissing you, not even for a second, her tongue your mouth, tasting you. Vi carries you through deeper into your apartment, like she knows exactly where she’s going even though she’s only ever been here once for several minutes.

Your fingers slide into her hair, tugging slightly, and she groans against your lips, low and needy, sending a shiver down your spine. You can feel the tension in her muscles, the way her grip tightens around your waist.

She stumbles slightly as she reaches your bedroom door, blindly pushing it open with her foot before stepping inside. The moment she steps in, she presses you against the nearest wall, just for a second, just to feel you pinned against something, her body flush against yours, her breath hot against your lips.

“Fuck,” Vi mutters, her forehead pressing against yours.

Her breath is uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly, and when she looks at you—lips swollen, eyes dark with want—you swear you’ve never seen her like this.

You don’t give yourself time to overthink. You don’t want to think.

You just pull her back into you, your lips crashing into hers once more, and she groans against your mouth as she finally moves again, finally carries you those last few steps toward the bed.

And when she lays you down—Vi stares.

Her body hovers over yours, her hands braced on either side of your head, her breath still uneven as she takes you in—really takes you in. And fuck, you look so pretty like this, sprawled out beneath her, lips swollen and your lipstick smudged slightly from kissing her. Your chest rises and falls with each breath, the thin fabric of your dress shifting slightly, and Vi can’t stop staring, can’t stop drinking you in like she’s trying to memorize every inch of you.

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and she exhales sharply through her nose, her hands curling into fists against the mattress as she forces herself to pause, to breathe. She feels like she’s standing at the edge of something dangerous, something she’s wanted for so long but never let herself have, and now that you’re here—now that you’re letting her have you—she feels like she might lose her fucking mind.

Her gaze trails down your body, heat pooling low in her stomach as she watches the way your thighs press together, the way your fingers twitch against the sheets, waiting for her to do something.

She wants you. Wants to make you forget everything except the way she touches you, the way she makes you feel, the way she’s about to have you.

Vi exhales again, slower this time, and when her eyes flicker back up to yours, she smiles bitterly—low, lazy, cocky.

“Oh, fuck,” she murmurs, shaking her head slightly, her pink hair falling into her eyes as she licks her lips.

She leans in then, pressing her lips against the soft skin of your neck, her teeth grazing just slightly as she whispers against you teasingly.

“Vi, hurry, please—”

“I’m on it, baby,” she says.

Vi doesn’t waste another second.

She shrugs off her jacket in a rush, the leather hitting the floor, and her fingers already working at the hem of her shirt. She pulls her shirt over her head, leaving her in her jeans and her sports bra, barely noticing where it lands—because you’re right there.

Vi moves above you, her body pressing closer, and that’s when you see it.

The small glint of silver catches your eye, swaying gently as she hovers over you, her breath warm against your skin. Your lips part slightly, because you know that necklace—

And now, it’s still there.

Vi doesn’t seem to notice at first. She’s too lost in you, in the way your body moves beneath hers, in the way she’s been desperate to have you again. But when she feels you stiffen slightly beneath her, when she pulls back just enough to really look at you, she follows your gaze—and freezes.

Her breath falters, chest rising and falling just a little too quickly, her entire body suddenly too still.

She realizes what you’re looking at.

You don’t say anything, but you don’t have to.

And Vi—Vi feels like she’s been caught.

The necklace still rests against her skin every single day, always hidden beneath layers of fabric, unseen by anyone else.

But now, you see it. You know.

She doesn’t just want you tonight.

She wants you always.

Right in front of her, staring up with wide eyes, breath coming in soft, uneven gasps, your lips still swollen, and your dress still clinging to you.

And holy fuck, she needs you out of it.

Her hands find the fabric at your sides, her fingertips pressing into your skin as she tugs, as she urges your dress higher, bunching it up until she can pull it over your head.

You lift your arms for her, letting her take it off, letting her strip you down just like she wants, and Vi swears her brain short circuits the second she sees you like this.

Her breath catches, her pupils blown wide as her gaze drags down, raking over every inch of your skin exposed to her.

She groans softly, deeply and almost pained, before she lunges forward, her lips finding the soft skin of your collarbone, your shoulder, anywhere she can reach. She kisses you so messily, open-mouthed and desperate, her tongue flicking out between kisses, her teeth grazing just enough to make you moan.

She wants to taste every inch of you, mark you up so that you remember exactly where she’s been.

“V-Violet—”

Your voice—soft, breathy, breaking just slightly on her name—hits Vi harder than anything else has tonight. It goes straight to her chest, down to the part of her that remembers, that aches for every time you used to say her name like that, every time you used to fall apart for her.

And fuck, she’s missed it. She’s missed you.

A soft whimper rumbles from Vi’s throat, her teeth scraping gently along the delicate skin of your chest before she pulls back just enough to look at you. Your bra is pushed up, her hands eagerly roaming your tits, swueezing and pulling just like she always did whenever she was in a rush to make you feel good. Its not long before she reaches behind you, one hand undoing your bra and throwing it on the floor with the rest of your clothes.

And you’re already so wrecked, your lips parted, your breaths uneven, your body arching beneath her as she touched you.

God, she wants you—wants to ruin you, wants to hear you beg, wants to make you forget everything but the way she feels against you, around you… inside you.

Vi’s hands tremble slightly as she hooks her fingers into the waistband of your panties, tugging at the fabric slowly down your legs. She watches the way you react—the way your breath catches, the way your thighs tense, the way your fingers clutch at the sheets like you’re bracing yourself. Like you’re nervous.

She pauses, her thumbs rubbing small, absentminded circles against your hips, trying to soothe the tension in your body.

She’s thought about this.

Fuck, she’s thought about this almost every night—about you, about having you like this again, spread out beneath her, breathless and wanting an be needing her.

It’s been so long. Too long.

And as much as Vi wants to devour you as soon as possible—she also wants to savor this. She wants to feel it.

You make a small noise—soft, hesitant—and when Vi finally drags the last piece of clothing down your thighs, when she finally sees you, all of you, she lets out a breath she didnt even know she was holding.

You shift slightly, instinctively moving to close your legs, to hide yourself, but Vi is already there—her hands gripping your thighs, spreading you open for her.

And then she sees the hesitation in your eyes. The way you bite your lip and glance away. Shy.

Something in Vi’s chest tightens.

She knows.

You haven’t done this in a long time.

She wants to say something, but can’t find the right words. So instead, she does the only thing she can—she leans in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the inside of your thigh, her lips soft and wet.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” she murmurs against your skin. “Always been so pretty, baby.”

She kisses you again, this time closer.

But when your breath hitches, when you finally look at her, when your fingers twitch like you want to reach for her but don’t know if you should—Vi knows.

She knows you want this.

You need her.

So Vi immediately gets to work.

The second she spreads you open, the second she sees how wet you are, she groans low in her throat, the sound vibrating against your skin as she leans in without hesitation, before finally dragging her tongue through your wet folds.

Your body jerks as get tongue presses flat and firm against your clit, and your fingers immediately reach for her, tangling into her hair—longer now than it used to be, your fingertips curling around the strands, gripping on it, pulling on it.

Vi feels you everywhere—the way your thighs twitch slightly against her hands, the way your hips shift up as if you were chasing the warmth of her mouth, the way your fingers tighten in her hair the second she flicks her tongue just right.

She hums against you, reveling in the way you respond to her so easily, like no time has passed at all, like your body still remembers her, still wants her just as much as she’s always wanted you.

She licks into you again, her tongue delving deeper into your pussy, messily and slurping loudly while her hands grip your thighs as she pulls you closer, like she can’t get enough—like she wants to devour you whole.

“Fuck,” Vi breathes against you. “You taste so good. Missed this pretty pussy so much.”

You let out a soft, broken sound as your hips buck slightly, your fingers still tangled in her hair.

Vi whimpers against your cunt, at the way your body gives to her so naturally, so easily. She tightens her grip, pressing you down into the mattress as she speeds up, her tongue dragging through your folds with faster strokes before circling your clit.

And when you whimper, Vi fucking smirks against you, because this is what she’s missed. The taste of you. The sound of you. The way you fall apart so easily for her, like you were made for this, like you were made for her.

“Hah, mmph—F-Fuck, Violet—”

Vi rolls her eyes back in bliss, moaning into your messy cunt as she slurps and sucks on your swollen clit. She loves hearing you moan her name like that—absolutely lives for it. Craves it. And god, she could fuck you all day just so that she could hear the heavenly sounds that fall from your lips.

She feels it before you even say anything—the way your thighs tremble beneath her palms, the way you close her in between your legs, the way you pant quicker and wuicker by the second, the way your body starts to tighten.

She knows you’re close already.

She knew you would be—knew from the second she laid you out in front of her, from the moment she tasted you, from the way you gasped and clung to her, fingers tangled in her hair, pulling, tugging, harder and harder, your body arching.

And that only makes her hungrier.

Vi doesn’t let up.

If anything, she doubles down, her grip tightening on your thighs, her tongue moving faster, more precise, lapping up everything you give her like she needs it, like she’s starving for it. She slurps at your wetness desperately, her tongue flicking, curling, pressing your pussy just right—just perfectly—and it sends you spiraling.

You don’t stand a chance.

Your entire body tenses as the orgasm crashes into you, ripping through you so fast, so hard, that your back arches off the bed, your thighs squeezing around Vi’s head as your fingers pull at her hair, and you cry out.

“V-Violet!”

Vi doesn’t stop.

She doesn’t slow down, doesn’t pull away, doesn’t even pause—she just keeps going, her tongue still moving against you, inside you, her hands still gripping you tight, holding you down, keeping you there, like she’s refusing to let you come down from it, like she wants to drag you through it again and again and again.

And it’s too much.

Your breath stutters, your body twitching beneath her, overstimulated and shaking, but she’s relentless.

She moans against you, the vibration making you shudder, her tongue never stopping, pulling another wave of pleasure out of you before you can even recover from the first.

“V-Vi—” you gasp, broken and trembling.

But Vi just groans in response, like she loves how fucked out you sound, like it only spurs her on. She presses herself closer, tongue flicking faster, sucking have on got clit, drinking you down, devouring you, like she doesn’t plan on stopping until she’s satisfied—until you’re a mess beneath her, until you can’t think of anything else but her.

And fuck, with the way she’s going, you’re not sure she ever plans to stop.

Vi growls against you. Your body twitches beneath her, still trembling from your other orgasms, your breath ragged, uneven, and yet she doesn’t stop. Her tongue is still working you over and over, her hands still holding you down, still keeping you open for her, like she needs this just as much as she needs to breathe.

You gasp, your fingers tightening in her hair, tugging, pulling, trying to push her away, but Vi just moans at the feeling, her nails digging into your thighs as she keeps going, trying to drown you in the pleasure she’s giving you.

“V-Vi, I can’t—”

But Vi only smiles against you. Her fingers squeeze at your thighs, firm, steady, keeping you right there. And then, she finally pulls back—just barely, just enough to let her breath kiss over your wet, sensitive cunt as she tilts her head up to look at you.

Her lips are glossy with you, her pink hair disheveled from where your fingers have been pulling, and her pupils are blown, dark and hungry, her mouth curling into something dangerously smug, something so unbearably cocky.

“Can’t?” she echoes, raspy, teasing.

She presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss against the inside of your thigh, her teeth scraping just slightly before she smirks up at you.

And then she’s right back on you, tongue slipping inside, sucking at your clit, pulling another moan from your lips before you can even think to stop it.

You don’t know how many more times you came on her tongue.

It was so much.

And soon, you could hear Vi whimpering, louder and louder, her hands gripping your thighs tighter as she grinds her hips down onto your bed while she ate you out.

Vi was close. Untouched.

“V-Vi…” you breathe, your body trembling.

“Just a little more, baby, please…”

And you couldn’t say no to her. She always asked so nicely, even before—you loved it when she’d beg.

So she kept going and going and going.

Her whimpers grow louder, turning into moans, as she continuted to work her tongue against you. Fuck, she was so close. So fucking close. She could feel it tight in her cunt, waiting. All she needed was one more out of you. Just one.

She could feel you, almost there.

And when you jerk, trying to pull away from her mouth only for just a moment, Vi pulls you against her, wrapping her mouth around your clit and sucking. Hard.

You scream, the sound sending a wave over Vi’s body and that just about does it for her.

“M-Mmmph—Nn-ah, f-fuuuuck—” Vi whispers, gasping for air, her face still against your cunt.

She rests there for a moment, her cheek pressed againdt your inner thigh as she tries to catch her breath, her body shivering from cumming hard. She could feel her boxers, wet and sticky, and she swears you just sent her to heaven.

It doesnt take long for her to regain her energy, before crawling back up, leaving gentle kisses over your skin, before claiming your mouth with hers once more. You could taste yourself on her tongue, in her mouth. And you knew for a fact that Vi was cocky about it. She smiles against your lips before trailing back down to your jaw and neck, kissing the small bruises she left on them earlier.

Her hands are still resting lightly on your body, her fingers gentle now, as if she’s afraid you might shatter if she’s not careful. She pulls away a moment later, just enough to look at you.

She stares at you for a while, like she’s trying to memorize every inch of you—your flushed face, your lips swollen from the kiss, your eyes still half-lidded.

There’s a flutter in her chest. Vi can’t explain it—not really—not when every part of her is overwhelmed with the need to keep you close, to have you.

But she doesn’t say anything.

She just looks at you, her thumb gently brushing along the side of your cheek, her eyes soft as they lock onto yours. Her mind is running a mile a minute, every thought tangled up in the same three words that she wants to say but knows she can’t.

She says them to herself over and over.

I love you.

She says it in her head, again and again, her lips barely moving with the words as she stares at you. She wants to say them aloud, wants to let you know how much she means it, how deeply those words run for her, how she’s only ever felt like this for you.

But she holds herself back. She’s afraid of what might happen if she does.

Vi’s not sure if you feel the same way—if you even could, after everything that’s happened.

So instead of saying the words, she just leans down again, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, letting her lips linger there for a moment, breathing you in. She pulls away slowly and moves to lay down next to you, her gaze still locked onto yours.

The room is quiet now. Vi watches you closely, her eyes tracing the rise and fall of your chest, the way your face softens as you drift off to sleep beside her. You’re curled against her, one of your hands still resting lightly on her chest.

The soft glow of the light outside the window makes your skin glow. She can’t stop staring.

Her fingers, still warm from where they rested on your skin, twitch at her sides, but she doesn’t dare move. She can’t tear herself away from you, from the way your hair spills across the pillow, the way your lips are still parted slightly. She reaches out slowlyc just to brush a few strands of hair from your face, her fingertips grazing your cheek gently.

You stir slightly, your lips parting in a soft sigh, and Vi feels her heart lurch again. She knows she should sleep—knows she should rest too, but the thought of closing her eyes and missing even a second of you like this seems impossible.

Vi can feel herself drawn to you, drawn to every subtle movement, every breath you take. Her mind spins with thoughts—of the past, of what could’ve been, of what might still be. She thinks of the way you kissed her earlier, the way you touched her, the way she was so sure of you before, and then everything fell apart. The distance between you both became something too big to cross, and now, after everything, she’s here again, watching you as you sleep beside her.

It’s not just being close to you—though, fuck, she wants to hold you, wants to feel you pressed against her until there’s no space left between you. But it’s the fact that she’s here with you. After all the years apart from you, she finally has you again. Right next to her. And she doesn’t know what it means or where it’s going, but right now, she feels whole in a way she hasn’t in years.

Her hand hovers for a moment, just over yours, but she doesn’t touch you. She just watches you, watches the way your chest rises and falls, the way your face looks so relaxed, so safe, like you’ve finally found peace in her presence.

Vi stays there all night, her eyes never leaving you. She watches the clock tick by, watches the light change, watches you sleep, and for the first time in so long, she doesn’t feel so alone.

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gloomunson · 3 months ago

Text

The Set Up

Yeah, took me 11 months to post again, mind your business.

Smut bc of course it is. You and Eddie get set up on a blind date.

Word Count: 9847

You’d only really been told a few minor details about your date this evening.

He’s tall.

He’s loyal.

He’s easy-going.

He’s a lead singer in a band.

He’s tall.

Unsurprisingly, you were desperate enough to accept the date regardless of the brief description. He’d certainly matched some of it this far. He was tall all right. Towered over you in the brief moment he walked over to the table you’d already been seated at near the bar. He was pretty too. He was prettier than a bride on her wedding day. His lashes long and fluttering, lips full and glossy, eyelids glimmering with what looked like the remnants of eyeshadow that he must have second guessed and wiped off before he arrived. He had the hair of a rockstar, long, dirty, curly, windswept and effortlessly styled, though it must have taken him years of practice in his bathroom mirror to achieve that look, you were thankful he’d taken the time.

A few decent looking guys rolled through the bar during your wait. Some tall, some short, some certainly rockstar adjacent, none of them would quite have made the same impact as he had. But at least they’d arrived more closely to the meeting time set. He arrived 36 minutes late. You tend to be pedantic like that when you’re anxious. You thought about going home. You thought about drinking alone. You thought about chatting to one of the other guys lingering around too, but then he arrived.

He arrived strolling in like he owned the place, and you’d forgiven him at first. The leather jacket and the ring clad fingers taking away some of the pain of both his lateness and then the initial first date awkwardness. The apology wasn’t half bad either, he looked genuinely embarrassed and he looked at you with those wet brown eyes if his, the slightest glimmer of glitter at his lash line and you’d somewhat succumb to his efforts. But 30 more minutes into it with a maximum of 8 sentences said between the two of you, you couldn’t fucking fathom how this man had lead a band or gotten anywhere so far in life. He had nothing to say. He had the personality of a plank of wood. If the cocktails didn’t kick in soon, it was a wasted journey. You were rooting for him too.

You’d been trying. Small talk was exhausting but you’d at least attempted to cover the bases. You knew he was late because he got the train tonight. That he’d somehow at 28 years old never gotten one before. That he didn’t quite understand the correct platforms, scrambling and missing the first train of his. That he should have looked it up beforehand. The only reason tonight was the night he lost his public transport virginity was because his friends had warned him to leave his ‘shitty’ van at home. You guessed that meant he either had poor taste in vehicles or poor hygiene in the maintenance of one. Perhaps even both which was also pretty dire and preventative of things escalating between you.

You also knew that he’d admittedly not been on a ‘real date’ for quite some time. Probably because in peak musician fashion, he’d tended to have more flings and hook ups either before, after or hell, maybe even during a show. You’d also spotted the giant hickey on his neck to further assist that theory, not so much the location but confirmation that he’d not been one to shy away from casual sex, neither should he. But it was quite amusing that he’d attempted to conceal it for the sake of this date. Unfortunately for him, the shade was warmer than his skin tone, you’d spotted it pretty early on. He’d also nervously rubbed off a large portion of it. It’s a wonder he’d bothered to hide it and go on a date at all, he clearly didn’t need the set up.

The only saving grace during the awkward silences was the tapping of his fingers against the sticky high table. His hands were pretty. Fingers long and slender, precisely beating a rhythm into the wood that had so thoroughly not been deserving of it. His pale skin almost translucent enough that the bluey green veins pumping and pulsing beneath his skin were practically begging for your attention and they’d caught it. If there was nothing else coming from tonight, you at least needed to consider the attention those digits could provide in the backseat of your car that you actually had bought with you. Shit. Maybe that was the rockstars effect right there. Those damn fingers.

Suddenly the motion had ceased, his fingers retreating from the table, instead wiggling around in the air in a peculiar manor. He’d caught you. “My eyes are up here sweetheart.” You followed his fingers all the way up to the upturned smirk on his lips. He gestured to it so helpfully with his index finger too. “So, they are.” You remain calm, cold even. As if you’d not been caught drooling over him. “Must have gotten lost searching for a reason to continue this date.” He gulps, his Adam’s apple fighting for its life. He withdraws his hands, sinking them under the table to rub the nervous sweat off his palms onto his jeans instead. “That bad?”

He’s not surprised that you thought it. It was abysmal. Through no fault of your own, it was all on him. But the fact you’d had the balls to say it out loud. Though truth be told, you weren’t actually intending to. He was both aroused and mortified and it wasn’t an entirely new sensation to him. You were so far out of his league you may as well have been on another continent, planet even. He was painfully aware he had nothing about him to keep a woman like you interested. You were bubbly and smart. You were pretty. The kind of pretty that makes him want to throw himself over a puddle in the street so that you might walk all over him instead of dirtying your shoes on the ground, fuck a jacket, like in the old movies, you deserved better than a jacket. He’d tried to come up with compliments, stories, anything about his life that could be considered interesting or mildly intelligent, he came up with nothing.

He started tapping the second he broke into the library of previous conversations with his friends, hoping to steal an anecdote of theirs that he could pass as his own instead. He’d set the bar for himself so low that literally anything would have done, would have filled the gap in conversation. Like that one time his friend Jeff fell right off the stage during a set. Or that other time when the same friend Jeff got hit with pyrotechnics accidentally. He was far too slow, and you were far too lovely for him to look at. There was no chance of him successfully escaping into his own head to pluck that material out in a timely fashion when he could get lost in your glare instead. He just wanted to be in the moment with you, romantic in his head but was the romance in the room with them at the dingy bar they’d somehow both found themselves in? No, he didn’t suppose it was. He was completely fucking this up.

“It’s not great.” You admitted. You probably could have been kinder. Okay, you definitely could have been kinder, but you were so fed up with dates heading south, may as well speed up the process. He suddenly perks up. “Do you smoke?” You furrowed your brow for a moment before responding. “Like cigarettes?” You cringed that you’d even asked, of course that was what he’d meant. “Like weed.” He deadpanned. Finally, you found yourself cracking a smile for the first time that night. He finally felt he did something right for the first time that week. His friends had also warned him not to mention his affliction for pot. It’s not like the date could have gotten any worse, it seemed like the opportune time to pull that one out. “I wouldn’t say no.” You may as well get something out of this. Free weed with a hot guy was not something you were strong willed enough to pass up. If it lead to the inevitable make out session with them knee deep in the passenger seat afterwards then so be it.

“This is gonna sound really fucking presumptuous of me and I promise it’s not like that but uh, ha, I uh I have a room at the motel across the street.” You waited for him to stop mentally cursing himself for mentioning it, but it didn’t seem likely to stop soon. “You wanna smoke there?” You complete the suggestion for him. He nodded. “Figured it’d save us stinking out your car, know how hard it is to get rid of that smell.” Speaking from a literal decade of experience. “Very considerate of you.” You were already hopping from the stool you’d been sat on; he finally got a look at you in full as you made your way to the exit in front of him. He literally pinched himself.

You were unbelievable. It was a sick joke that his friends thought he’d ever have a chance with you. The only information they’d given him about you was;

She’s hot.

She’s a little blunt and direct.

She’s really funny.

She’s sweet once you get to know her.

She’s hot.

Hot didn’t even come close. The skirt cut way above the knee, your thighs thick, juicy and jiggling as you walked. Your tights an opaque black you’d assumed boring but still doing unspeakable things to him with the way they hugged you. He was about to get on his knees and crawl after you if only to get a better look at them. The fact you’d paired it off with a corset top was insane to him. A sheer black top was layered beneath it, sure, but it did nothing to hide your cleavage squished together and pushed up to the heavens as god intended. It was the kind of outfit to make a man do shameful, disgusting things to himself alone at night. That paired with the makeup, flawless and yet so minimal he’d only really picked up on it because of the neat little flicks above your eyelids. The accentuation of your lashes mixed with your waterlines coated in a cool white liner was actively destroying him. He had absolutely no idea what he’d done to deserve a shot with a woman like you and from that moment on, he couldn’t afford to let his nerves get the better of him anymore.

He chased out after you with a new found energy, similarly to a puppy chasing its owner. You arched your brow as he caught up with you, bouncing on the balls of his doc marten covered feet. “You’re kinda cold you know that?” You wondered if there was anything else he wanted to add to that or if he was done offending you there. “It’s really fucking intimidating actually.” A breeze blows over them, his curls combing back in the wind, his side portrait revealing itself along with the baby pink blush coating his cheeks. The street lights glowing behind him made him look pretty fucking angelic from your perspective. You felt yourself soften. “I’m sorry for that.” You looked down at your shoes, platform trainers you never went without, with a genuine remorse. “I know I must be hard to talk to.” You did feel embarrassed about the way you’d acted. You’d never really given him a chance. You tended to throw up a wall pretty effortlessly around new people. From the second he was late, your preconceptions plummeted into the earth. Perhaps you were too hasty after all.

“Hey it’s okay. I’m a big boy I can handle it.” He gestured to his chest as they walked more in unison. “We all have our shit.” He continues, suddenly bubblier than ever. “I for one, am fucking terrified of pretty girls.” He grinned, big and cheesy when you laugh, finally feeling like he’s accomplishing some level of charm. You even went as far as to tucking some hair behind your ear before the wind pulled it back away again. He wanted so desperately to reach out and fix it for you, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet, he had some serious impressing to do before he could reach that level of intimacy.

“No, I’m serious. Hard to believe I know.” You rolled your eyes. “Even harder when they’re a little mean.” He nudges your arm playfully, and boldly really, considering he was really pushing himself out of his comfort zone now. “I am pretty mean aren’t I?” You cringed. You didn’t want to be. You were just closed off and with good reason too, though he’d never question it, he could see it was there and something you were working through. “I reckon I can get you out of that shell.” You couldn’t stop smiling now, it was infuriating. “Like you suddenly came out of yours.” You elbowed him this time. He checked off a mental tally of things you did that made him think he stood a chance, so far he had two, which wasn’t a lot, but certainly enough.

“Sweetheart I’m gonna be honest.” He paused walking, you too, stopping in front of him, short and sweet and giving him your undivided attention and he wanted to kiss you, but it was so far from the moment for it. “You get set up on a date by your friends you expect it to be a failure right? Like you’re a fucking mess so naturally whoever they choose for you is going to be just as bad right? Half the time someone you’d never look twice at. As shallow as that is to say. But then I walk in and see, well you.” He gestures to you with both hands excitedly. “Shit I couldn’t believe it.” You shook your head. “You know you’re hot right? You act like it’s me who’s the hot one here.” He literally dropped his jaw, your confession wasn’t a complete blinder, he’d known he wasn’t ugly. There were some questionable attributes and insecurities of his, but he wasn’t ugly. He just hadn’t expected you to see that too. “Are you serious? I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me.” They start walking again, mostly because you feel so embarrassed and hot under the collar at the confession that you needed to put some space between the two of you again.

“The hickey on your neck says you know I’m right.” Of course you’d seen it. He instinctively reached to cover it, as if to say ‘oh that’s what that is.’ “Would you believe me if I said I was attacked by an octopus or something?” You looked at him seriously. “Yeah, no fair enough.” He snorted. He cursed himself for it. You thought it was fucking adorable. “We all have our shit.” You repeat his earlier statement. He genuinely beamed at you. “That we do.” They finally reached the motel, he leads you to his room, hands shaking like crazy, it could be the cold, it could be the nerves, either way, he struggled to slot the key in the lock. You cover his hand with yours, taking the keys, unlocking the door yourself. You were so fucking cute. He was losing his mind.

“Love what you’ve done with the place.” You waltzed in. Letting the warmth of the room engulf you in a hug. It’s not as bad as you’d pictured. It’s actually pretty clean. The walls freshly coated in off white paint. The carpet outdated but hoovered and surprisingly unstained. The sheets also outdated but again, cleaner than you’d expect from a joint like this. Suddenly fooling around in your car didn’t seem as appealing. Not when the bed looked so inviting. But that was planning too far ahead for you. Not far enough for him. He was picturing marriage and kids by now.

“Shut the fuck up.” He reached into his bag, bringing out a pre-rolled joint. “My, my, you do come prepared.” Unfortunately, he failed to notice the tiny lube packets thrown on the desk right beside the bag. “Safety first.” He wanted shooting. You’d happily shoot him. Though the thought that he might be the slightest bit interested in fucking you was making all your insides gooey. It was also real hard not to squeeze your thighs together. “Where to?” He scrambles, placing the joint between his lips, heading to the back of the room, another door, leading out to a shitty pool area, probably one of the most depressing scenes. Even the bright fuck off blue tint of the chlorine overdosed pool couldn’t brighten up the grey paving and metal fencing around it. The deckchairs missing half their legs, material spliced with a knife weren’t much helping it either. “Absolutely not.” He agreed, closing the door, locking it, throwing the chain on the latch firmly for good measure. He didn’t feel like dying there tonight.

They instead decide to smoke in the room, the windows open wide, the lights dimmed, some music playing lowly and gravelly from the clock radio at his bedside. He’s laid with his head to the foot of the bed, knees bent up, socks digging under his pillows on his designated side. You opted for propping yourself up at the headboard, pillows supporting your back, legs lay out flat, thighs pushed together. He’d so badly wanted to lay on them.

They pass the joint between them till it was half way through, the motel room hazy, the air thick, he damns it for hiding you from him. He just wants to get closer. “Whatcha thinking there?” You leaned forward, elbows on your knees. “So many dangerous thoughts.” He lets slip with a smirk. “Care to share with the class.” He groans, but he doesn’t mean it. “I share my weed, my time, my beautiful room, and you still want more?” He tsked at you. “If you’re thinking about me, don’t I have the right to know?” You offered back. “You have ownership over thoughts now?” You nodded. “I do. Better get them out in the open before you get into trouble.” You giggle at your own bullshit and that’s exactly what it was, complete and utter, couldn’t handle your weed bullshit. “What if,” he sits up, leaning back on his elbows. “The thoughts themselves get me into trouble.” You ponder it for a moment. “Then I really, really wanna know.” Your eyes lit up with a genuine excitement. “You’re so high aren’t ya little one?” You fought the urge to whimper at the pet name. “Tell me.”

He sighed. This time he sat up fully. You shuffled around yourself, crossing your legs. Your skirt so short you were well aware you weren’t covered by anything but tights right now but at least they were opaque, ish. He begged himself not to look. “Well, I was just thinking maybe we could uh…” he leaned in closer, his nerves started eating away at him when you leaned too, “we could shot gun. Maybe.” You chuckled. “If that’s as dark as it gets in that little mind of yours then your little fling,” you reached out, prodding the fading hickey on his neck, “must have been pretty abysmal.” He clicked his tongue. “Well, you certainly got me there huh.”

He leans up on his knees, lighting up before instructing you, “open up.” You were practically gawping at him as he inhaled, mouth propping open while he inhaled enough for him to feel his lungs aching. He reached for your face, thumb on one side of your mouth the rest of his fingers on the other, stretching your mouth wider, pushing the smoke right out of his own and into yours. Your eyes were open, just barely, eyelids heavy, pretty lashes fluttering, you had the audacity to moan when his lips pulled away without even kissing you. He was already fisting the sheets. It was over way too fast.

“You are way too fucking hot right now.” He stubs out the joint momentarily, placing it in the ash tray he’d now deposited on the desk. “Then why aren’t you kissing me?” He breathed a shaky breath, running his fingers down his face frustratedly. “That’s, that’s a good fucking question actually.” He practically bounced back onto the bed, you giggling away so fucking sweet, finally relaxing around him. His friends were right, you were a real sweetie deep down. He liked you at your bitchiest, any other version of you was a blessing on top.

Your hands stroke his cheek, startling him, you begin to pull them away, maybe a step too far but he’s pulling you back in by the wrists, depositing your arms lazily around his neck instead. “Just caught me off guard is all.” He lets his forehead lean against yours, his heart thudding rapidly in his chest. You smelled so good. He’d never forget it. Bury himself in it. You were more intoxicating than any drug and he’d sampled his fair share. “Don’t want you to regret this sweetheart.” He says it honestly, vulnerably. “You need to stay out of your head.” You’re calmer than he is. It didn’t take much. “Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t wanna be.” He rubs his nose against yours, so close yet so far. “But do you even like me? Cause I swear, you were so out, now you’re all in I…” Usually it’s the guy who kisses the girl when they’re rambling on, but you threw the outdated stereotype right in the trash. You kissed him. The second you did, he cupped your cheeks, grateful you had.

It wasn’t the best kiss either of them had ever shared. It wasn’t electric or life changing or even passionate, despite the chemistry they clearly shared now. It was messy and miscalculated, and they clashed their teeth with a clanging sensation at least twice. “Okay stop, stop.” You pulled back, not too far but far enough for him to miss you. “What the fuck was that?” You were deadly serious. He was mortified. “I can do so much fucking better I swear to god.” He would beg on his knees for another shot immediately. “Just take it easy.” Your voice is so soothing, reassuring and encouraging, he leaned in again. “I really wanna kiss you too, Eddie.” His eyes pinged with tiny hearts. “You do?” He was so struck dumb by the sound of you saying his name. “Stay with me here.” He nods like a lovesick puppy. “Kiss me again.” You nudge him, this time he eased into it. It started as steady, gentle closed mouth kissing, before prying your lips open with his tongue kissing, which lead to him pulling you into his lap kissing. Then it was him raking his fingers through your hair kissing, elevating to softly whining into your mouth kissing and well, you can gather the rest, you were fucking kissing.

“That’s more like it.” You praised, tugging at his hair, his breath hot against your lips, a smirk befalling you when he pushed his hips right up into yours, forgetting the thin layer of fabric between them, hitting right at your core, a moan pouring from your mouth into his. You even felt his dick kick in his jeans. “Fuck baby.” He whimpered at you calling him that. “You gonna whimper and whine whenever I talk honey.” You stroked his chin, his lips chasing after yours, power going straight to your head. He was so far gone, be it the weed, be it you, he didn’t know and he sure as hell didn’t care.

“Can’t help myself princess.” Your turn to swoon. “Drive me fuckin crazy.” His hands run up your thighs. “This fucking outfit. Can’t believe I nearly bored you to death at the start. I deserve a world of suffering.” You just hummed and nodded, letting him mumble and mutter away. “Dressed so pretty for me. Shortest fucking skirt. Knew what you were doing.” He starts sucking on your neck, moving your hair out of the way to better bruise you. “Made so much fun of my neck, let’s see how much you like some marks of your own.” He teased. “You wouldn’t dare.” You fought back. “Already fucking there.” He bit down into the soft, warm flesh of your neck, soothing the toothmarks with a swipe of his tongue. You hissed at the sensation, all sorts of thoughts flickering through the space of your mind right now. Eddie’s tongue, Eddie’s tongue, Eddie’s fucking tongue.

His heart was fucking hammering in his chest, all senses heightened, craving you. Yours were just as bad, if not worse. You were notorious for becoming insatiable under the influence, so it was no surprise to you how quickly the pace had increased. His apparent and fairly large need for you too was enough to mean that he was swimming in a similar ocean. “Can we please take some clothes off, I feel like I’m scorching.” You pulled at your corset like it were made of flames. “Never gonna say no to that.” He leans in kissing you again. Hands reaching up your back to feel around the corset, trying to find the tie. It had to be there somewhere. You guide his wrists down to the bow which he carefully undoes. He tries to tug it off you, not understanding how exactly it worked, pulled at it, yanked it, unthreaded it, fiddling some more. He pulls from your lips, maximum concentration, head resting against your chest, muttering into it. “Why are you doing this to me?”

You stroke his head, flattening some of his untamed mane, soothingly kissing his crown. “An A for effort. Poor baby.” He hugged you tight, needy and clingy and so, so into you. “Definitely the least practical top for a hook up but they make my tits look great.” You offered as a consolation. He pulled back, not looking at you, but directly at your breasts, grinning like a fool. That was enough of an encouragement boost to keep him going. “They sure do.” By the time he rests back against them, you’ve unthreaded the corset enough to slip it off over your head, which he gladly jumps to help you do, chucking the wretched thing across the room once it was off.

“Holy shit, look at these fucking things.” You bit into your lip as he grabbed them, no gentle caress, just taking them in each of his massive hands, squeezing them, tugging them, bunching them together, pinching each nipple till you pushed your chest further into his grip. “Unbelievable.” He lifted the sheer top you’d had on beneath the corset. Watching them fall out bare, they were beautiful. They were big, not perfectly round, not in the least bit symmetrical, but full and hot and heavy in his hands. Your nipples hard and prodding at him with an unfamiliar shaped lump adoring them both. Metal. You’d pierced not one but both nipples. “You’re fucking kidding me.” He stares at them, no really, mouth open, gold fish popping, gawping at them. “You can still suck on them.” It was as if you’d read his mind, he was wondering it too and, thankful you’d said it. He feared he might never have left that moment otherwise.

The feeling was different. Nothing like he’d experienced before. Boobs were boobs to an extent sure but the metal bar adorning them both was so erotic, so delicious to him. He sucked them gently at first, too afraid to do too much in unfamiliar territory. Once you sighed softly in approval, encouraging his movements, he finally began to explore, licking, sucking gently pulling with his teeth, your breath hitching, sounds increasing, soft little moans that coursed right through his blood stream. His tongue tangling around the piercings were enough to alert you to any other skills he might have had in that department. You made a bold assumption that he’d knew his way around with few complaints.

“I need more Eddie.” You pushed your chest into him. “Fuck I need more.” You were so high, aching with need, bursting with lust. He managed to pull himself away, only to catch your eyes. “Need more what?” You scowled, less than impressed with his agender to torture you further. “Or should I ask where you need me, hmm?” You shuddered. “Where do you fucking think?” You snapped, agitated and unafraid to hide it. He lapped it up. This might be his one and only opportunity to have a woman of your calibre begging for his cock, you could bet your ass he was going to milk it.

“Where I’m fucking soaking you already.” You pouted, your thighs squeezing his, sweet little centre rubbing down onto the zipper of his jeans, catching just right. An entirely new tactic to get yourself what you wanted. He moved his hand down between them as if he didn’t already feel the dampness, low and behold, his jeans were fucking ruined. “Gonna do anything about it?” You urged him, pushing him further, you’d cross every line you had to if it made him act.

Finally, he grabbed your hips, ready to roll you both over throwing your back down into the mattress, his body lowering, slotting between your spread thighs. The weight of him pinning you down. “Yeah I’m gonna do several fucking things about it.” Your cunt fluttered around nothing, the tremors rising all the way up into the pit of your stomach. It was a flaming sensation, making you fidget and puff short little sighs of frustration into the room. You were pained by the lack of his touch even more so by the emptiness.

“That was hot.” You sighed; he smirked. “You’re hot.” His eyes rake over your body. “Look at you.” He ran his hands down your sides, he couldn’t decide what to play with first. So much choice, so much to devour. He was stalling. So nervous he couldn’t quite push himself to do anything at all. Just leaning back on his legs, not believing the sight before him. You reached out for his hand, not to bring it to touch you, even though you weren’t opposed to the idea. Instead, you just wanted to bring him back down to earth, offer him some solace. “You still with me?” You traced your thumb across the back of his hand. “We can hit pause.” He shakes his head, taking your other hand in his. “No fucking way princess.” He gulps. “I just needed to look at you, take it all in.” He pulls your hand to his lips, kissing it. “I might not get the chance again.” You sure hoped he would, as did he. “You have about 2 seconds to take a mental picture.” You mouthed “one, two,” before he leaned down, kissing you delicately on the mouth.

You tug at his hair, pulling his weight on top of you, wanting it actually. He grunts. “Please, take some damn clothes off.” He pauses for a moment. Shit. He couldn’t just keep his clothes on. He sits up, practically flying off the bed like an erratic little bat, flinging his jacket off, his shirt, struggling with his jeans too. “Shit, fuck, shit.” You’re leant up, arms behind you, watching him hop on one leg, trying to get his boots off whilst his jeans are halfway down his legs. You decide to show mercy, putting him out of his misery, slipping onto your knees, halting him.

He gulps, swallowing hard as he takes in the view of you there, topless, blushing, hair thrown over your shoulder, on your fucking knees. You unlace his boot, slipping it off his foot, one after the other, before tugging down his jeans, letting him step out of them. While you’re down there, you can’t help but peak, his sizeable bulge straining against his boxers, leaking. A sweet little wet patch calling to you. You move your face towards it, but he stops you. “Nuhuh sweetheart, no can do.” You pout, brows furrowing sweetly. He tilts your chin up toward him. “Want me to bust in 2 seconds flat? One more pout and I’m there sweetheart. Don’t test me on this one.” You roll your eyes before admitting defeat, effortlessly standing up again, sitting yourself on the edge of the bed.

“What do you suggest instead then?” He takes a deep, shuddering breath, trying to compose himself as he approaches you slowly. "Why don't you lie back for me, princess?" His voice is low and husky, dripping with barely restrained desire. He wasn’t fooling anyone. You shift higher up the bed, leaning into the pillows while his hands already work at tugging your skirt down your plump thighs.

He hooks his fingers in the waistband, tugging gently as he looks you dead in the eye. “Lift,” he commands, his voice firm yet gentle. It makes your stomach summersault. You comply, arching your back slightly as he slowly drags the short little thing down your legs, tossing it aside along with your tights, your panties left on.

Just as you ponder why he left them on at all, he pulls them up, between your lips, “for me?” You roll your eyes, mostly in hopes he doesn’t see the effect he’s having on you, “which part?” He takes a swipe, “the lace and the dampness.” You groan. He moves them to the side and pulls you apart, admiring you, sucking in a deep breath. “Stop staring.” You squirm. He ignores you, “I’m serious stop,” he looks at you, “shut the fuck up, I’m working here.” You face palm in embarrassment, he takes the win. He leans in, sucking at you, licking you, in all the wrong places almost as if he’s doing it on purpose. He cannot be serious. First the kiss now this.

You lean up on your elbows, watching him, as soon as your eyes meet his, he finds your clit, “oh there it is.” He smirks into it, you mumble, you’re not sure what. He hums. His breath is hot against you, you already felt like you were on fire and all he was doing was adding oxygen to it. But his tongue is so gorgeous and long, darting inside you. You forgive him. He’s fucking perfect and direct around your clit, plus his plump, pretty lips latched onto you, sending you to heaven. Felt so empty though, clenching down on nothing, needing more than what he was giving you. Maybe you were greedy, maybe you just wanted this man like no other. Maybe that was the same thing.

“More.” You sigh. He ignores you, purposely or accidentally you’re unsure. “Fuck more.” You repeat. He mumbles around you, lifting a hand to wave you off, nothing was stopping him now, “please.” His brow quirks up at that. “Pleaseee.” You say again. He rotates his finger as if to say, “keep going,” head still buried between your legs. “Please, babe, I need more, please, please.” The gesture continues. You groan, hips wiggling, his spare hand pins them. “Fuck, I need more, please, please more. Eddieeee.” He lifted his hand to gesture a chef’s kiss, and you wanted to crush his head with your thighs like a damn watermelon. He pissed you off even more when his mouth hesitated, leaving you with nothing for far too long, before he finally sucked on those same sarcastic fingers, pushing them inside you. He didn’t stop there; his lips were back at your clit. Your head was thrown back into the pillows beneath you, your back arching, hips bucking into him. “Fuck.”

Despite his theatrics, it was good, it was more than good. Everything increased by the weed of course but credit where credit is due and all that. You were drenched, whining, pushing your tits into your own hands. You were floating on a cloud. He was touching you so well. So, fucking well. You almost felt that band snap, stomach summersaulting with the realisation. Cumming, you were close to cumming. Fuck what if you sounded stupid? What if you made too much noise or fuss? What if he didn’t like the way you tasted? You psyched yourself out of it when you got too close, he furrows his brows, pulling away when you groan and mutter frustratedly. He came up for air like a diver who’d been underwater, hair pushed back, gasping for a breath. “What happened? Weren’t you there? Felt like you were there.” He’s not angry, not annoyed he’d failed, really he had only the look of concern.

“I was there.” You confirm. “What happened?” He still touches you, not to make you cum, just cause he wanted to, really wanted to, if you did though, that was a bonus. “I got in my head.” He nodded, understandingly. “Well, it’s a very nice head, I’d wanna be in there too.” He says it so comfortingly poking you. “But it’s kinda cruel to deny yourself, don’t ya think?” His fingers slip inside you again briefly, pulling out, seeing if you had any objection. “Think I think too much.” He laughs. “That’s what the weed was for.” You cover your face. “I don’t wanna force it, but I do want to try again, would you be okay with that?” The way he looks at you makes you want to trust him with your life. Eyes big and beautiful, soft for you. You agreed, the fact he wasn’t put off entirely was unfortunately a shock to you. “Okay.” You breathe, relaxing.

He builds you up again, much the same, consistency being key. “Close your eyes.” He talks you through it. You do so. He mumbles. “Just focus on how I feel, can you do that?” You nod but he doesn’t see, too busy, so you speak up. “Ye- yeah.” He continues. You focus, eyes closed, he feels good, wet, warm, “hmm,” his tongue licked a stripe up your cunt, torturously not dipping inside. “Oh.” Then his tongue licks at your clit, short, quick flickers, not overly exaggerated. “Shit.” His lips kiss and suck and hold the bundle with care, his finger pushes into you, slow and deliberate, gently hooking, as if tugging at that very string preventing you from getting there. “Fuck, baby.” He repeats, patiently drawing you near. Feeling you shuffle, feeling you tighten, hearing you whine as you near the edge, he tugs that string like it’s his fucking lifeline, and he needs it back in his possession, you crumble, back arching, moans loudening, he doesn’t let up until your thighs are shaking, breath laboured. “Fuck, fuck.” Your hips drop, body feeling like it’s plummeting from great heights, orgasm crashing over you in waves. He pulls away from you, he doesn’t grin like you thought he would, just wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and stares at you like you hung the fucking moon.

He climbs up your body, peppering kisses along your stomach, your chest, your neck, your jaw. His face comes into view over you, and he smiles softly. His eyes are glazed, and his pupils are huge. He looks high and sated, happy. And its infectious. He leans in to kiss you but stops himself. “Do you… I mean… can I…” You try to finish for him. “Kiss me?” He flashes his teeth a little, before biting his bottom lip. “Yeah.” He says breathlessly. Your nod is the only permission he needs before he takes your mouth again, cupping your jaw. You kiss him passionately, enjoying the taste of yourself mixed with his sweet mouth as his tongue glides along your bottom lip, dipping inside to tangle with your own. You can feel his erection pressing against your hip, aching, no, throbbing. You hum against his tongue, face moving, moulded perfectly against his, body rocking too, grinding against him. Both of you getting carried away, feeling free now. Comfortable.

You wrap your arms around his neck and he slots between your legs, hands reaching down to grip the fat of your ass in his hands, groaning, hips bucking into you when he takes hold. “Fuck.” You gasp. He continues kissing you, sucking hard onto your lips, biting a little, licking a little, tongue deep inside your mouth. He tries to be quiet but you can feel him panting a little against your mouth, hips pushing at you in desperation.

It’s now just a case of who breaks first. Neither of you willing to pull away for even a second. Despite knowing how badly you needed each other. His hips start moving more intentionally, grinding against you, making his own frustrated sounds which get smothered against your lips. You can literally feel his struggle between wanting to maintain control and losing it completely. His hands squeeze your ass tighter, spreading you, pulling you closer. Slotting you directly against his clothed cock. Your fingers dig into his chest, scraping gently at his tattoos there. He sighs at the catch of your nails. You test him again, firmer. Scratching him as he shudders. You do it again, there’s a whimper against your lips this time but he’s pulling away, he’d reached boiling point.

"Fucking hell.” He pulls back, panting hard. His eyes are dark with lust, his hair tousled from your fingers running through it. He looks down at your breasts, rising and falling with each breath, then back up to your eyes. “I wanna… god I wanna fuck you baby, can I fuck you?” His hands stroke over your shoulder, up and down, a gentle, tickling touch. “God I wanna fuck you.” You lean up, nose brushing against his, his eyes flutter closed, you feel them long bambi lashes fan at your cheeks. You chase his lips. Kissing him harshly. Dragging him back down against your body.

He cups your cheeks, kissing you back, tongue slipping into your mouth, but he still tries to speak. “That a yes?” You groan against his mouth. “Tell me it’s a yes.” He’s kissing across to your jaw. You crane your neck to give him full access. He nips at you, teeth grazing then squeezing, a punishment for leaving him hanging. “Shit, yes, yes you can fuck me. Want you to fuck me, stop being a fuckin vampire.” He chuckles against your neck, his body relaxing. He bites again but softly this time, before sucking where your shoulder meets your neck soothing any injury. His hips push against you. His length sliding against your slick, throbbing cunt. He’s so hard it hurts, you, not him, though maybe him too. “Shit. Condom?” He pulls back to look at you.

“You don’t have any? Mr wears a hickey on the first date.” You look at him in absolute awe. “How do you have lube and not condoms?” You dip in for another kiss. You couldn’t help it. “I uhh don’t have one on me no. And no comment on the uh other thing.” He mumbles against your lips. His heart pounding, stomach plummeting. He’d ruined everything. But your legs wrap around his waist. Sending him humming when your pussy grinds against him. His own hips matching yours. “You have any? Little miss perfect?” He asks quietly, sucking your bottom lip again. Your legs tighten around him. He whimpers. “Maybe.” His eyebrows arch. Fuck if you grind against him anymore you’re in for one hell of a sticky situation.

“Maybe?” He groans, face scrunching. “You wanna use me as a toy baby, just fuckin tease and never let me have you?” He doesn’t even hate the idea. There’s a sick part of him that wants it like that, but he pins it for a later date. He instead, kisses down your neck, sucking hard onto the same spot as before, in case you missed his warning. You hiss. “I’m on the pill if you even care.” His eyes widen. His pupils blowing out like that of a cat. Big, black, and impossible to ignore. He stops kissing you for a second, staring at your face in utter disbelief and perhaps even a hint of excitement, his Christmas coming early. Him too, potentially. “You’re on the pill? As in, I can come inside you? As in, I can fill you up? As in…”

“Offer expiring as we speak.” You rock your hips up against him, for something, anything. “No, nope, nuhuh, fuck no, no expiring, gonna just fuck you baby.” He kisses you back, practically tearing your panties just to get to you. His hands roaming over your body roughly. You part your legs wider like an invitation and he takes it. Breaking the kiss only to shuck off his boxers with ease before spreading your legs wide. You gawp at his cock, half sitting up just to get a better view. “Great, now you’re staring.” It twitches as he speaks, shy maybe. “Can’t help it.” You absentmindedly lick over your bottom lip, but he notices it, eyes locked on your face for any kind of negative reaction. “Big huh.” He huffs. “I’m serious.” You insist. “And the way you.. curve a little.” Your hands reach out to stroke him, but you pull your hand back as if you’d been bitten. No, you wouldn’t touch him yet.

He watches your hand pull back with amusement, frustration too. His own hand reaches for you, grabbing yours and guiding it to wrap firmly around him. “Go on, get a proper feel. Ain't gonna bite baby." His hips flex slightly, pushing his cock into your palm encouragingly. Smearing his precum against your palm. His voice was strained. “Spits though.” You swipe through the beading white droplets leaking from his slit. “Looks pretty dangerous to me.” He growls, his hips bucking into your hand, his own still over yours. “Woman," his face scrunches up, how he hadn’t cum, was a fucking miracle to him. “Want me to put it in?”

His hips jerk, he’s embarrassed by the whimper that leaves him when your wrist twists, experimentally touching him, torturing him. “Lie back, lie back and fucking move your hands.” He sounded pained. He was fucking pained. Your cheeks flush crimson. “Please.” He adds politely. Just in case he snapped a little too hard. But you liked it. You only blushed because the thought of squishing him inside you was enough to make you drip.

He watches you with barely restrained urgency as you lay back. The moment you do, he pounces, crawling over you like some kind of predator. Settling between your thighs with a relieved groan at the welcoming heat awaiting him. His cock jumps against you, and he can't help the frustrated grunt that escapes him. You rut your hips against him, and he just can’t get over it. Every fucking thing you do. Every little thing. You were so sexy. So incredibly hot without even trying. He takes himself in his hand, rubbing his thick, hot head against your pussy, swiping through, coating himself in your arousal and you both shudder. You grasp for his forearm, stopping him before he even has the chance to dip his needy tip into you. You were killing him.

“Let me in. Please baby you fuckin have to let me in.” He leaks some more precum against you, you like the way its feels, sticky and warm against your skin. “I will, I promise, just not like this.” He groans exasperated. “Then what? Like what baby?” He’s trying so hard to keep level headed here but you were testing him. He takes a new approach, pinching your lips around his length, fucking through them, head catching your clit, a sweet whine tumbles from your lips. He didn’t even need to be inside you to turn you to mush with his cock. “Just wanna wrap myself around you, you fucking idiot, want to touch you, hold you and fucking feel you properly not just lie here complicit in missionary.” It’s a wonder you manage to get it out at all, through laboured breath, his dick pulsing against you.

“He smirks down at you, his eyes glimmering, amused. “Then don't.” He leans down, pressing his lips to your neck, his hands sliding up your sides, around to your back then up to tangle in your hair. “Touch me.” He breathes, his voice low and husky. “Hold me. Wrap your fucking body around me.” He lifts you slightly. You wrap your arms tight around his neck, your legs hug around his waist, body clinging to his with all your strength. He lays you both on your side, the two of you sinking into the mattress, into each other, his cock lining up with you and you doing nothing to prevent him from slipping in, just letting his tongue catch yours as you moan for him, and he does too, the loudest you’d ever heard him, overwhelmed from plunging into your hot, wet little pussy. His hands rake over your ass, grabbing at it, pulling you further onto him, with no protest from you, just acceptance, just taking him and taking him so god damn perfectly.

His breath hitches as he feels you take every inch of him, your body moulding around his like some sort of fucked up puzzle piece. He groans, hands gripping your ass tighter, grinding you against him, him rocking his hips into your cunt, meeting you there. “Fuck," he gasps, his hips moving in a slow, deep grind as he slides in and out of you in this new position. "Feel so damn good around me baby." He mumbles against your neck. “So, fucking wet.” He ruts into you smiling against your neck. “Yes baby.” He moans softly; his voice muffled against your skin. “Like that.” He encourages, his hips snapping forward as he grips your thighs and pulls you closer. “Touch me.” He gasps, his breath hot against your neck. “Hold me.”

“Yes,” you tangled your fingers in his hair, he grunts as you tug. “I know, I know you like it baby.” You coo. "You god damn know it." He hisses, bucking his hips harder. "You pull my hair like that again." He warns darkly. "And I'll breed you." Your breath hitches, he feels you squirm, like you’re trying to get away from him. He curses himself mentally. “Too much? Way too fucking much?” He panics. “First fuckin date remember.” He rolls his eyes. “Already balls deep baby, too late for etiquette.” You huff. “Just maybe keep the whole breeding thing to a minimum.” He nods in agreement although he doesn’t miss the way you clenched around him as you said it, he took a mental note, not that it’d take, you had him scrambled.

Despite him nodding, he doesn’t really mean it. He’s already picturing you stuffed full of his cum. “Mmm.” He pushes those thoughts aside. “I won’t mention it again.” He promises, pushing his hips forward. “Pinky promise sweetheart.” Your hands lock in the promise, his forehead against yours, breath hot against your lips. “God can you… fuck can you move back a little, gimme some room.” He rolls his eyes but complies, shifting back slightly with a soft grunt, giving you a little more space between your bodies. His cock slips out partway, the new position allowing him to look down between you both, admiring the sight of himself disappearing inside you. "Better?" He huffs. Barely keeping it together. Feeling it was one thing, seeing it was another. The grip you had on him as he pulled back, far enough the tip caught your lips before pushing all the way back in, hugged tight by you, your hips bucking, back arching. You slip a hand down between your torsos, feeling your way down to rub at your clit, his eyes nearly bulge out of his skull, watching you rub yourself, fucking yourself on his cock, desperately humping at him. “Fuck, so much better, so much fucking better.”

"Jesus Christ." He curses under his breath. The sight of you touching yourself, fucking yourself on him, god it was enough to make him see heaven. He reaches down, his hand covering yours, pressing down harder as his hips begin to move, matching your rhythm. "So fucking pretty for me. Look at you go. Look at you taking it.” Your mouth parts, sweet little sounds coming out needy and desperate. Pathetic really. “Can I cum Eddie? Can I?” If you’d have told him at the beginning of the night that he’d end up here, with you begging to cum on his cock without him even pushing you to, he’d tell you to fuck off. Because there was no way in hell you’d ever stoop so low. But hell, was he glad you did.

He laughs in disbelief, his breath coming in short pants as he watches you writhe beneath him, utterly lost in pleasure, begging for it, for him. “Are you seriously asking permission right now?" He teases, hips never stopping their relentless grind against yours. "Fuck yes, cum for me. Never need my permission baby, you cum whenever you fucking want, however many times you want.” You sigh with relief, hand speeding up against your clit, his mouth comes crashing down against yours, hands squeezing at your hips. He kisses you till you can’t kiss back anymore. Till you can only moan and yell, and cum loudly, pussy squeezing him half to death. And when he spills, he spills hard, so hard he’s seeing white spots, head hazy, body engulfed in your flames.

You’re breathless, both run ragged. Trying hard to calm the racing beating of your hearts but to no avail. He collapses into you and you only hold him tighter, face buried in his neck, his hair drifting over you like a curtain and you don’t even care, too wrecked to give a damn but he does. He moves it away. He strokes your cheek, kissing it, soft, sweet, gentle blessings dotted across your face as he comes to. “Baby girl.” His hips shift a little, stirring his finish inside you, just checking it really happened, it really was in there, and it was. “You okay?” He pulls back to catch your eyes. Your makeup is a fucking state. mascara smudged, eyeliner gone entirely. “Define okay.” He smirks at your response, running his fingers through your hair to push it away from your face, better to see the mess he made of you. "I think I can answer that." He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Breathing, cracking jokes, looking at me like you wanna kiss me.” He pecks your lips again. “All signs of life are there.”

“Think I need the opinion of an actual medical professional.” Worry flickers over his face. “You serious?" He laughs softly, pulling back to look at you better, taking in your swollen lips, messy hair, red cheeks. "You feeling sick?" He asks seriously now. "Actual nausea? Headache?" He throws himself off the bed, ready to find his boxers and t-shirt. You whine at the loss of him inside you far too soon. “No, Jesus, come back. I was kidding.”

"Don't joke about shit like that." He crawls back on top of you, pressing his body against yours. "You're okay, right? Nothing hurts?" Your lips twitch into a smile. “Nothing hurts. You gave it your best go though.” He snorts, rubbing his face, his eye in particular. “Yeah well, gifted.” You shove him, playfully. “Where were you gonna go in boxers and a t-shirt hmm? Who were you tracking down like that without a car Ed?” Despite you making fun of him the only part he really focuses on is “Ed.” Sounds so pretty from your mouth.

He strokes his thumb over your bottom lip. He ignores the question, "say it again." He murmurs, leaning in closer. "Say my name." He whispers, his nose nudging yours. "Please?" He asks softly. “Not even listening to me are you?” You trace messy little patterns across his shoulder blades. “No ma’am. Not really." He admits. "You called me 'Ed' and fucked me up." He confesses, his face buried in the crook of your neck, breathing you in. "I like it." He mumbles. "I really like it." He pecks your neck. “Kinda pathetic Ed.” He squeezes you, smiling, lips catching your neck. “I can live with pathetic. Try besotted even.” He pulls from you to catch your eyes. “Besotted already? Should I be worried?”

"Maybe." He grins mischievously, his hips shifting slightly, making you suck in a breath. "Answer a question honestly." He speaks softly. His fingers carding through your hair again and again. "No bullshit." He adds. "No snark." He smirks. “No promises.” You respond, his face falls. “Fine, whatever. Go on.” He rolls his eyes, trying to hide the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Really fucking helpful." He mutters but presses on anyway. “Truth time. You think I'm annoying as hell, right? Like, offensively annoying?" You nod. “Incredibly so yeah.” He laughs softly, his body relaxing. "Honest answers. God bless." He hesitates. “Would you get to the point?” He nods, plodding on. “Too annoying for a second date?”

Your lips quirk up into a smile. “You wanna see me again?” He blinks at you like you were speaking a different language. "Duh." He says, his face deadpan for all of a second before he's grinning again, his lips pressing against yours. "Gimme your number." He commands softly, breath fanning across your mouth. "Let me take you out. Do this shit right. Maybe not turn up late this time.” You pretend to ponder it for a moment. You pretty much decided you liked him from the second he kissed you, even if it was one of the worst first kisses you’d ever had. Because when the second one came around, stealing your breath like it was nothing, yeah, you knew alright. “I’m so down for that.”

He grins widely, a playful glint in his eye as he leans in, his lips barely brushing yours. “Well, well, well, looks like I finally managed to impress a girl without fucking it up royally." He teases, his hands sliding down to grasp your hips gently. “Congratulations.” You whisper against his mouth; it does funny little things to him. His heart skips a beat at the sound of your voice so close, so soft and sweet for him. He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, and before he can stop himself, he's smiling against your lips, a sweet, lazy smile that speaks volumes of the affection he's beginning to feel. “Think I’m in trouble here.” You kiss him gently. “Think I’m right there with you.”

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #rockstar eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #stranger things smut #eddie munson stranger things

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wwooyology · 11 months ago

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Stargirl Interlude | L.HS

「pairing」 : bf!heeseung x fem!reader 「word count」 : 1.3k

「synopsis」 : it was showtime, but heeseung just had to sneak his pretty girlfriend, you, into the back so he could fuck you. you were his good luck charm, after all.

「genre」 : smut, fluff, rockstar!heeseung

「warnings」 : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, cussing, unprotected sex, quickie, kissing, biting/marking, creampie, petnames (doll, baby, pretty girl...), praising, slight fingering, teasing, hair pulling, slight dacryphilia, public sex, lmk if I missed anything!

“Fuck Hee, what if someone comes in?” You gasped as his lips latched onto the supple skin of your neck, teeth grazing over your jugular. His knee shoved your legs apart, pressing it right against your thinly covered core, seeing as you were wearing that cute black dress that he told you to before leaving.

“No one is coming back here; they’re all too worried about making sure everything is set up.” He groaned against your skin before pulling away to seal your lips in a heated kiss, pressing his knee right against your core to hear your pretty moans.

“Hee–”

“Shhhh, doll, don’t worry so much.” He whispered softly, hands reaching for the hem of your dress, hiking it up over your hips. “You just try to keep your pretty sounds down,”

A soft gasp fell from your lips as his fingers brushed over your covered slit, feeling your slick soak through the thin fabric. Heeseung chuckled as he latched his lips to your neck once more, biting down on the junction of your shoulder, relishing in the way your body trembled.

He moved your panties to the side, running his fingers through your folds, feeling how wet you were. Your eyes fell closed, and your bottom lip got caught between your teeth as his fingers prodded at your slit, teasing you.

“Seungie, please.” You whined, gripping his shirt with a vice-like grip, the need coursing through your body making your brain all fuzzy; the only thought in your mind was having him buried balls deep in your soaping cunt.

“Fucking hell, baby, you’re dripping in my hand.” His voice was low and husky as he licked his way up to your ear, taking the lobe between his teeth, making you shiver, “too bad we don’t have a lot of time, or I’d be on my knees devouring you whole.”

You whined at his words, feeling yourself growing wetter by the second, which, of course, didn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend. With a chuckle, he shoved his middle and ring fingers into your wet heat resulting in a choked moan falling from your lips, eyes screwed shut, and fingers dug into his shoulders.

The lewd, wet sounds that were coming from where Heeseung’s fingers scissored you open were deafening. Making your ears ring as he continued to litter your pretty neck with marks, showing that you were taken.

“As much as I want you to come on my fingers, I need you on my dick.” Heeseung breathed out, pulling his fingers from your clenching wall, making you whine. He was quick to swallow all of your whines as he kissed you messily, hands making quick work of his jeans. Pushing them down just far enough for his cock to slip out, hitting his abdomen, tip red and decorated prettily with beads of precum.

He pressed your body tightly against the wall, taking your right leg with his hand before using the other to line his cock with your entrance after shoving your panties to the ground. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, teeth latching onto his skin as he pushed into you slowly.

“Shit…” He groaned as your warm walls wrapped around him snuggly, a tighter fit than normal due to the lack of preparation.

Heeseung gave you barely a moment to adjust before he pulled back out and pushed in, leaving you gasping against his skin, fingers digging into his biceps. You tried to keep your noise on the down low, but the position, the two of you were in allowed him to hit all of the right spots to make you see stars. Choked gasps and moans fell from your lips the faster his pace got, growing in pitch by the second.

“You’re so noisy, doll. Do you really want someone to catch us?” He mocked you, a smug smirk tugging on his lips as he watched you shake your head against him, biting your lip to try and muffle your noises once more. The dark-haired male trailed his hand from your hip up to your head, threading his fingers through your hair and tugging back harshly. A high-pitched whine tore from your lungs, and tears stung at the corner of your eyes as you looked up at him. His hips never faltered as he took in your already fuck-out expression, loving the tears that had started falling from your eyes, which caused some of your makeup to smudge under your eyes. You looked so pretty like this, and god, did he wish he could just say fuck the show so he could take you home and fuck you into oblivion. But alas, the band wouldn’t survive the night without his vocals.

“Hee!” You squeaked as his tip kissed your cervix, eyes screwing shut as you felt the coil in your stomach start to tighten.

Heeseung tugged on your hair once more, tilting your head up so he could kiss you once more. The kiss quickly turned wet and messy as you couldn’t focus on kissing him properly due to the instrumental amount of pleasure that racked your brain.

“Close already, doll?” He teased despite the fact that he wasn’t too far from him either, but hearing the weak mewls that left your kiss-swollen lips was too good to pass up.

Untangling his fingers from your hair, he let your head fall back into the crook of his neck while he found your hip once more, pounding into you relentlessly. The tiny storage closet is filled with lewd, squelching noises as well as quiet, soft moans and groans from the two of you.

“Hee–” You were cut off when the coil in your stomach finally snapped, and you were coming around Heeseung’s dick, causing him to groan at the feeling of your walls fluttering. Choked gasps caught in your throat as he fucked you through your high, legs threatening to give out as they shook under your weight. Heeseung was the only thing keeping you up right, his hold far too strong to let you go anywhere.

“Such a good girl for me– fuck… letting me fuck you before my show,” He groaned, hips faltering as his high approached, “always my little good luck charm, isn’t that right doll?” Your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head as he continued to fuck into you, throwing your body into a state of overstimulation.

“Sungie…” You whined out, more tears falling from your eyes as you let your head lay back against the wall. Heeseung cooed at you, kissing away your tears and whispering praises as he spilled his seed deep in your womb.

He continued to pepper your face with soft kisses, bringing you back down from your high. Tilting your head up, you capture his lips in a gentle kiss, relishing in the warmth it brings along with it until he pulls away with a small pout.

“They’re probably looking for me,” He grumbled, pulling his soft dick out of you, watching as both your and his cum trickled out and down your thigh. You whimpered in his hold as he scooped the cum on his fingers before pushing it back into your sensitive cunt.

“Hee–”

“Shhh, pretty girl, we gotta keep your stuff full until we get back home.” He pressed a kiss on the corner of your parted lips before letting your leg fall and reaching down to grab your discarded panties, hiking them up and over your hips. You let out a breathy sigh when he fixed your dress, then encased your body in his arms and peppered your exposed neck and shoulder with wet kisses.

“Heeseung, man, where are you?” Your body tensed up at the sound of Jake’s voice, one of Heeseung’s bandmates.

Heeseung chuckled softly before pulling away from you, cupping your cheek in his hand. “I’ll see you after the show, my pretty girl.” Then, with one last lingering kiss, he slipped out of the room, leaving you there to collect your bearings before walking out to watch your boyfriend perform.

@wwooyology | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

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joonjuul · 4 months ago

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r u mine? jjk

pairing: rockstar!jk x reader

wc: 6k

warnings: fboy!jk, dom!jk, hookup/one night stand, crazy bar bathroom sex, hickies, bruising, choking, mirror play, overstimulation (f receiving), light finger (f receiving), light crying kink, reader is crazy horny smh, this is disgusting im so sorry

a/n: first fic on here whats up yall

‧.⋆｡°

the dim lighting surrounds you in a hazy room, feel the sweet stink of smoke fill your lungs as you inhale the second-hand killer. you feel your stomach stir as you relish in the scent and nostalgia of a good cigarette, silently kicking yourself for quitting two months prior.

you make your way through the crowd, bumping aimlessly against shoulders as your hand grips tighter to your drink. although this isn’t your first time here, there’s nothing like admiring the faces of strangers and passersby that you may never see again, wondering what brought them to this place.

‘sal’s’ was for the low of the low, you only came here if you were a teenage delinquent trying to escape your brutal parents, a washed up inbred fuck up who peaked in high school, or a hooker trying to make ends meet. fortunately, you’re none of those things.

sal’s was your spot, it always has and always will be. it was the only place relating to the general public that you could emotionally withstand. people left you alone here, at least for the most part.

“hey watch it.” a voice rasped in your direction as you miscalculated whether or not you could squeeze between a tighter crowd.

“sorry.” you feel your eyes locked momentarily. as long as you’d been coming to sal’s, you’d never seen a face quite like his. he surprisingly doesn’t look inbred, definitely not a delinquent teen, that only leaves one option.

you watch as he smirks down at you gently, his eyes fiery, something within them ravenous, but you couldn’t quite place your finger on for what. as you caught your breath and continued your ministrations to the front of the stage, you take a swig of your drink of choice tonight: neat whiskey. things have been tough lately. you let the bitter liquid slide effortlessly down your throat as you finish off your glass. hopefully its a quick set tonight, i’m tired of fighting groupies off at the bar just to get a simple refill.

you watched as the lights surrounding you began to dim, seemingly thickening the haze. with the screech of a microphone, the night had begun. you often found yourself here on friday nights specifically to get a feel for what kind of talent was swimming through this low-life town these days, you always had a soft spot for rock music, and sal’s was the place for up and coming artists, typically being teenage delinquents, but it’s sal’s so what do we expect?

“alright ladies and gentlemen! thank you so much for coming tonight, we got a great show for you all so hold onto your drinks and give a warm welcome to ‘the tragedies’!” your ears were already ringing and the show hadn’t even started yet. is the crowd normally this loud?

you watched as three silhouettes slowly appeared on stage, their faces not yet visible, even at a close distance. with the thumping of the small stage in front of you, you felt that familiar sensation as the music began to play, the bass vibrating through your chest all the way down to your toes.

“i’m a puppet on a string…” your heart clattered in your chest as the lights came on, a tall, curly headed boy standing before you dressed in all black. he was mesmerizing, his tattooed fingers carefully tracing each and every string of the guitar, his voice raspy as he cradled the microphone with his mouth.

as his eyes finally opened, scanning the faces of each audience member carefully, you felt your heart skip a beat as they carefully landed on yours. your chest only panging faster as you began to realize that he was the man you mistakenly ran over in the crowd only 10 minutes prior. you suddenly felt your cheeks heat at the realization, watching as that same sly grin appeared on his lips that you had seen once before.

“when she’s not right there beside me i go crazy…” his voice rang through you like a sinner in church. as anxious as you felt, you couldn’t deny the genuine talent that man had. he wasn’t like the normal performers at sal’s, and the audience could easily tell that as well, every last one of them just as intrigued as you. and it wasn’t just him, but his other bandmates too, they were all good, and not too hard on the eyes as well. you wouldn’t be surprised if they were just stopping in as a special appearance, they definitely weren’t locals that’s for sure.

as the set came to a close, you found yourself yearning for the feeling of your body vibrating to the music again, taking a moment to catch your breath before heading back over to the bar.

as a sal’s regular, most of the bartenders knew you, as you came in at least once a week. you found yourself mindlessly taking a seat at the bar, directly in front of the taps where you somehow always ended up.

“y/n! enjoy the set tonight?” a voice pulled you out of your daydream as you looked up to the smiling bartender over the counter.

“oh hey puck, yeah you know what i actually did. who are those guys? i’ve never seen them here before.” you questioned, watching as puck began to pour you another whiskey neat, picking you right back up where you left off.

“i heard they’re from korea, trying to spread word about their band over here because rock music isn’t as big there. very modest country, ya know?” puck hands you your drink as you immediately take a sip, feeling your throat tense just as easily as it did with the last glass.

korea huh? it was like he was being handed to you on a silver platter. a beautiful man who was talented, not a delinquent, hooker, or inbred, and the best of all, not from around here. living in a small town like rockville, everyone knew everyone, and let’s just say there hasn’t been a refresh in the dating pool in at least a decade. losing patience is an understatement.

you looked up briefly from your drink to see him approaching the bar, surprisingly taking a seat only two chairs away from you.

“whiskey neat please.” his voice even raspier than before thanks to his set only minutes earlier. you smiled to yourself at his choice of drink before taking a sip of your own, suddenly feeling inclined to look around at the lovely architecture at sal’s, even though you had been there more than my own house. anything to avoid accidentally acknowledging his presence.

“what did you think?” your mind was pulled back to reality at his familiar voice. how can he sound talented even when talking?

you looked over at him to see his eyes already halted on yours. never had you felt small under a man’s gaze until that moment.

“m-me?” you looked around briefly. “it was great. you’re really talented man.” you lifted your drink towards him before taking another sip. your hands sweating even at just a minor interaction said a lot about your love life recently. times have been tough.

“i’m glad you liked it.” he watched as puck placed a fresh glass before him, reaching out and stirring the brown liquid in the glass a few times, admiring the liquor before bringing it up to his lips and taking a swig. he looked down at it, almost as if judging the taste.

“what’s your name?” he places the glass back in front of him, turning his body to face yours completely, running a hand through his shaggy, slightly sweaty hair, and bringing his other up to his shirt pocket, before pulling out a small cardboard box of marlboro reds. my favorites.

“y/n, you?”

you watched as he brought a fresh filter up to his lips, bringing a green lighter up right after it and cupping his hands around it instinctively.

he takes a deep inhale, enjoying every last bit before slowly exhaling the smoke as the words dripped from his mouth, “jungkook. jeon jungkook.”

you looked up at him almost in awe as he lifted the cigarette in your direction, offering you a puff.

you gently reached up to his hand, your fingers brushing against his slightly as you removed the small object from between his fingers and into your mouth, feeling your lungs rejoice as you inhaled slowly.

his eyes never wavered from yours as he watched carefully. his lids heavy from whatever drugs him and his bandmates decided to take before the show.

“aren’t you something?” his voice low and husky as he brought his glass to his lips again.

“forgive me. i quit a couple months ago. i had been behaving until just now.” the smoke filling the air as the words left your mouth. your chest burnt in pleasure, a feeling you had missed deeply. you looked down, your fingers still held it like it was yesterday. you quickly shook the thoughts from your head and reached your hand back out to him, offering him to take it back.

his eyes burned holes in yours, staring at you like he hadn’t blinked once. “you keep that one, love. i think you need it more than i do.” his gaze was dark, his presence more than just intimidating. he was almost painful to be around.

but you kept the cigarette nonetheless, your desire for pleasure overtaking your desire for comfort in this moment. his gaze never faltered as you brought the filter up to your lips once more, almost choking on the smoke as you watched him move to the seat closest to you.

“you’re quiet.” he spoke, his voice gentler than earlier.

you exhaled, creating a cloud of smoke between you both. “i am?”

he nods in response, his eyes tracing your frame, the same smirk from before never leaving his lips. “most girls can’t keep their cool when they see me, but i’ll say you’re doing a pretty good job.”

you quirk your brow in response to his cockiness. “well what makes you think i know who you are?” you lean forward, tapping the end of the cigarette above the nearest ashtray, but your movements are stopped as he grabs your wrist tightly, his eyes burning holes into yours as he guides your hand towards his mouth, placing the cigarette between his lips and inhaling deeply, before leaning back in his chair and tilting his head back, letting the smoke escape his body once more.

god this man was pure sex.

“i guess you’re right, you might not know who i am now, but you’ll want to know soon enough.”

you look up at him, taking the time to examine his tattoos carefully. the way they messily scatter up to his shoulder, getting scarcer as they move down towards his hands.

“and what makes you think that?” you feel the words leave your mouth before you have a chance to think.

he chuckles, his eyes dark as he looks back up to face you, leaning forward until your lips are barely touching, his voice just over a whisper.

“trust me baby, you’re gonna want to know who i am.”

his breathing is ragged, bouncing against your face easily at the close proximity. his eyes dancing carefully between yours and your lips, grazing along every mole and bump along the way. you feel your stomach curl at the thought of closing the distance between the two of you, breathing in his air and relishing in the feeling of having his hands touching every nook and cranny your skin has to offer up to him.

“and what if i don’t” you gain your composure enough to formulate a response, but not enough to mask the desire in your voice. and it’s obvious he can tell based on the smug grin across his face.

“then i’ll make you.”

you feel a blush creep across your cheeks as his hand reaches up to brush a strand of hair out of your face. the touch so simple, but coming from him, you could feel yourself melting already.

“such a pretty little thing.” his words raspy as he speaks almost out of breath, and you feel yourself getting hotter, almost overwhelmed by his presence combined with the crowdedness of the bar surrounding you. you feel your legs begin to twitch and shake, the nape of your neck getting stickier and stickier as his soft touch trails down your face and landing on your collarbone.

just breathe, don’t panic.

saying those things to you never help when you have a man like this touching you in ways you’ve never even dreamt.

“e-excuse me, i’m sorry.” you blurt, standing up abruptly and hurrying to the bathroom as fast as you can.

as much as you want to be with him, and you’d kill to let him take you home and do whatever he wants to you, you have nowhere to go.

you fumble into the bathroom, hurriedly locking the door and rushing to the sink, the skin he touched still tingles gently as you splash cool water on your face, doing anything you can to calm myself down.

you open your eyes, facing yourself in the mirror before taking a deep breath. “you can do this y/n, just have sex in his tour bus or something.” as much as being homeless has it’s perks, it definitely doesn’t help in terms of getting laid.

you feel your heart jump slightly at the sound of a gentle knock on the door.

“just a minute.”

your heart jumps again hearing the knock for a second time, your patience growing thin.

“i said just a minute.”

after the third knock you’ve completely lost it, storming to the door and turning the knob slightly.

“you know it’s very rude to-“ your heart stops as jungkook pushes the door open, his hands on your shoulders as he pushes you back into the doorway, using his foot to shut it behind him.

“hey what are you-“ you’re cut short once again at the feeling of his lips enclosing yours, his hands running up your waist and engulfing you fully into his chest. after a small protest on your end, you finally give in, allowing yourself to be completely taken over by him.

his lips never leave yours as he gently backs you into the wall, his hands gripping at any free patch of skin he can find, before landing on your hair and gripping it back harshly to pull you out of the kiss.

“think you can get away from me that easy, hmm?” his eyes dark and wide with lust as they land on your neck, kissing it roughly, hard enough to leave marks.

you feel a gasp escape your lips at his sudden ministrations on your neck, biting your lip to stop from any other noises to escape, but it’s too late. you feel him grin into the crook of your neck before bringing his head out to look at you once more, his hold on your hair tightening as he pulls back again gently.

“what, you like that hmm? you want me to be rough with you, baby?” his words are dripping with sex, lids heavy and lips swollen as he admires your flushed out state, feeling minuscule under him.

“what you don’t know how to respond when someone asks you a question?” he pulls back a little harder now, scalp burning at the sudden sensation.

“n-no i do.” you’re able to meekly respond, still surprised by the sudden intrusion.

“then answer it.” he grits through his teeth, his cocky demeanor from earlier melting into something much more rough and dominant.

“y-yes i l-like it, jungkook.” his ego swells at your words, knowing he can make a submissive, obedient mess out of you just like he did with the last 10 girls, and the last 10 before that.

“good girl, now how much have you had to drink tonight, baby?” his question surprises you, but you answer nonetheless.

“i-i don’t know maybe 3 glasses of whiskey, w-why?” he examines your facial expressions closely, trying to gauge your honesty to him. but he smirks, believing you to be truthful.

“just don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret. now, is it okay if i touch you, baby?” his words go straight to your core as he leans in to pepper kisses on your neck, soothing the bruises that had been placed there only a couple seconds earlier.

you moan and writhe at the sensitivity, but muster a response before he can grow impatient.

“y-yes. please.” he smiles at your enthusiasm, loving how quickly you opened up to him.

“good girl. now spread.” he nudges his thigh between your knees, and you quickly oblige, allowing him to push your body further into his. you let out a gentle moan at the sensation of his thigh being pressed tightly against your core. you were uncomfortably sensitive and didn’t have the patience for teasing, considering you hadn’t been laid in several years.

jungkook smirks again at your reaction, loving how easily you respond to his touch. he gently brings his hand up and places it on the side of your neck, his other hand tightly gripping your hip to hold you tightly against the wall.

he watches closely as you fight against his hold, trying to gain friction in any way possible. he can’t help the smirk that lands on his lips.

“what’s wrong, love? feeling desperate?” his words taunt you, seeing your flushed out state knowing that his words are only driving you crazier.

“god jungkook shut the fuck up and do something already.” and at that he wastes no time in finding your lips again. his fingers wrapping tightly through your belt loops to pull you closer into him, feeling his bulge through his pants only spurs you on more. your bodies hot as you pant against each other, trying to find friction and skin to grab every which way. it’s not until his hands find the hem of your shirt that you finally feel your nervousness wash away, and your arousal begin pooling beneath you.

you pull away from the kiss briefly as he quickly pulls your shirt off and throws it onto the dirty bathroom floor behind you. the walls lined with graffiti and lights flickering dimly as you both hungrily tear at each other’s skin.

you feel a moan escape your lips as his head ducks down between your breasts, rapidly switching between each one of your boobs, messily leaving sloppy kisses on each one, and twisting your nipples as he pulls away to look at you.

“can’t wait to bend you over that fucking sink over there.” you let out a low groan at his words, his fingers beginning to unbutton your jeans quickly, fumbling with the button here and there before finally unzipping them. he smirks down at you before trailing kisses from your collarbone, down to your stomach.

“you’re gonna look so pretty bent over it begging for me to fuck you.” your gaze follows him, mouth agape slightly as you watch him slowly pull your tight jeans down over your thighs. your arousal on clear display now, making jungkook’s cock twitch in his jeans, his pants suddenly becoming too tight to bare. he lets out a low growl but continues to work your jeans off completely, tossing them behind him to fall somewhere with your shirt.

he leans before you at your feet, gently palming up either one of your thighs, admiring the small mole or freckle he meets along the way, before bringing his hands up to your underwear.

your body tenses under his touch as you feel him wrap either finger around the waistband, teasing you gently as he runs his finger along it, getting dangerously close to your core.

“see that mirror too? don’t let me catch you closing your eyes. i want you to watch while i fuck the shit out of you. see what a fucked out mess you look like when i’m done with you.” his words send shots to your core as you can no longer control the moan leaving your lips.

jungkook reaches a hand down to palm over his pants briefly at your sounds. god they made him animalistic, he’s never heard a girl sound so angelic, he already knows you’re going to take him so well.

he resumes his place on your waistband and pulls your underwear off in one swift motion, leaving them to pool by your feet as he pulls you away from the wall roughly and drags you to the sink, wrapping one arm around your waist tightly, and using his other hand to grab your chin, forcing you to look at yourself.

“look how desperate you look already and i haven’t even started yet. what, has no one fucked you like this before?” his fingers grip your chin tightly as you cower under his hold, feeling so minuscule before shaking your head no.

you quickly register his surprised expression through the reflection in the mirror, but that look is quickly replaced by a cocky grin and a darkness in his eyes.

“don’t worry baby, i’ll take care of you.” he brings his hand from your chin down to your core, teasingly grazing against your clit.

you moan loudly, tossing your head back against his chest. but he’s quick to pull his hand away.

“look at yourself or i’ll walk out of here right fucking now and leave you a needy mess.” his sudden change of tone surprises you, but you obey, opening your eyes and watching as he continues his ministrations between your legs.

he begins rubbing circles on your bundle of nerves, watching you carefully through the mirror. although he’s surprised you’re obeying, he wants to test your limits. he swiftly moves his fingers from your clit, to prodding at your wet hole, making you moan in desperation.

“god please jungkook please.” you beg for anything at this point, anything to soothe the pain within you.

“please what baby?” his voice teasing as he continues to prod at your hole, dipping in gently only to pull back out making you writhe under his hold, squirming aggressively. his gaze through the mirror only making it harder for you to contain your moans.

he pulls his hand away quickly, bringing it to your back and pushing you down against the sink counter.

“dumb fucking bitch stop moving.” you listen as he begins to unbutton his pants, watching carefully through the mirror as his dick springs out between you. big is an understatement. you’re genuinely shocked at his size, your eyes wide and you want nothing more than to start begging for his cock, but you already know you’re on thin ice.

he uses his hand on your back to hold you down against the counter. “move and i take my fucking cock out of you, understood?” your eyes widen at his request.

“wha-“ before you can question him any further, his tip is buried deeply into your cunt, sliding into you in one swift motion.

“f-fuck jungkook.” the words escape your lips as you feel him fill you up completely, your walls stretching to accommodate his size. you moan gently, loving that he’s giving you time to adjust, until you slowly realize, he’s not moving for a reason. you feel the first tear slide down your cheek.

jungkook quickly notices and tries to gauge your response before speaking. he feels no resistance between the two of you, if anything, all he can feel is the arousal dripping down your thighs and coating his balls. he’s never seen a girl get this wet before.

“awww what’s wrong baby, talk to me.” his words are mocking but you can’t help but seek comfort in them, in him.

“y-you’re n-not moving.” you sniffle, your breathing ragged as you look at yourself in the mirror. lips pouted, neck painted in bruises, face wet with tears.

“is that what you want?” jungkook reaches a hand out to your face, watching in the mirror as he gently wipes the tears from your cheeks. “you want me to move baby? you want me to fuck you?”

your cunt tenses around his cock deliciously, his words spurring you on even more as you nod desperately, looking at him through the mirror.

he smiles sheepishly, feeling a pang of sympathy for you, as well as the pain in the base of his cock begging for some sort of friction.

“use your words, love.” his voice is more gentle now as he strokes your back instead of holding it in place, trying to calm you down from the fucked out mess you’ve become so quickly. he’s never seen a girl get worked up this easily before.

you nod, gulping harshly before speaking, trying to ensure your voice is as stable as possible.

“jungkook, please move. i can’t take it.” your voice comes out in a beg, only making jungkook’s dick twitch more. he groans deeply, looking down at his cock buried deep inside of you, your legs shaking gently between him and the sink counter, and your fucked out state in the mirror before finally deciding to let go.

“if i see you look away from that mirror i stop, understood?” his words go straight to your core as you finally feel like you might get some sort of relief. you shake your head enthusiastically, showing him that you’re ready to take him, all of him.

barely satisfied with your response, but not having the energy to make you speak, he decides to let it go, reaching up and grabbing a handful of your hair as he begins to pull out slowly, plunging inside of you harder than you were prepared for.

you’re embarrassed by the noises that emit from your body as he begins to fuck you mercilessly, his hand on your hair pulling you back slightly only spurring you on more.

“god you’re a noisy little thing aren’t you? you like being fucked like this?” his voice raspier than before if that’s even possible, making you whine and shake even harder. but he no longer has the patience for your unsatisfying behavior.

he quickly yanks your hair, pulling you back against his chest.

“answer me when i’m fucking talking to you.” you gulp, feeling overwhelmed with pleasure but knowing you’ll regret if you don’t follow his orders perfectly.

your voice comes out shaky and quieter than you expected as he continues to fuck into you. “y-yes, i like it fuck i like it a lot. please keep going.”

satisfied with your response he grins, letting go of your hair completely and letting you fall to the counter. his thrusts only getting rougher and more messy as he watches to ensure you’re looking at the mirror.

“good girl, look how pretty you are getting fucked like this.” he reaches his hand forward and brushes a few strands from your face, your mouth agape as he begins to brush against your g-spot with the change of angles.

you can no longer contain the noises coming out of you, screaming in pleasure as his thrusts become deeper, hitting you perfectly every. single. time. “fuck kook, don’t stop, p-please keep going fuck.” you know your throat is going to be sore tomorrow with all the screaming, but you don’t care anymore. all you can think about is the way his balls slap against your legs, and the way his hands roam from your face down to your hips and back up again. the words dripping from his mouth that you can barely comprehend, only enough to know that they’re driving you insane. you want more. you need more.

jungkook groans watching as more slick begins to run down your thighs. and even with how wet you were you were still tighter than any girl he’d fucked. he was obsessed with the noises you were making too, they only made him want to fuck you harder, but you were drawing too much attention to them.

he reaches his hand up to your face, covering your mouth to quiet you down slightly. “it’s like you’re begging for someone to come in here and kick us out, baby. shut the fuck up before i make you.”

there was something about every word he uttered that pushed you closer and closer to the edge. you were writhing under his touch, trying impossibly hard to keep your eyes on the mirror as not to upset him, but you were nearing the edge and you were starting to lose control.

“kook, p-please.” you were able to mutter, just barely above a whisper through the crook of his hand.

he hears your voice come out gentle and shaky, slowing his thrusts momentarily to make sure you’re okay. “what is it baby?” he ducks his head forward and moves his hand slightly to hear you better. but all you can focus on is his thrusts slowing down.

“n-no, keep going, k-keep going please please.” you feel your eyes begin to water in desperation, and with jungkook in close proximity, he realizes immediately just what you need, picking up his pace again.

“you’re close, aren’t you sweetheart? are you gonna cream around my dick like a good little girl, huh?” he places his hands on your hips, guiding you down to fuck him harder, only pushing you closer and closer to the edge. you begin to moan loudly again, not caring if you’re disobeying him anymore. you were just so so close.

jungkook however, notices this along with your bad behavior, and stills his hips mid thrust, wrapping a hand around the back of your neck to force you to look up at him in the reflection before you.

“what the fuck did i tell you?” his words sent a shiver down your spine and all the way to your core, tensing up around him, and this does not go unnoticed by jungkook.

“NO! n-no please please jungkook im sorry im sorry please don’t stop i promise i’ll listen!” and there it is, another tear sliding down your cheek gracefully before landing on the counter top below you.

jungkook’s heart flutters at the sight before him, your body so close to finishing, your hair a tangled mess, the tears running down your cheeks. he almost feels sympathetic.

he leans forward, tucking a hair behind your ear. “darling when i tell you to be quiet you need to be fucking quiet, understood?” his voice is gentle, almost mocking you, as he carefully pushes small pieces of hair out of your face. his other finger going down to your cheek to wipe the tears away carefully.

“you want to be good for me, right?” his voice is soft and devilish, making you clench around him once more, he bites his lip to keep a moan from escaping his mouth.

“yes, yes i do, i want to be good for you just please… im so close.” you watch as he wipes another tear from your face, returning back to his original position to admire the state of your body once more.

he leans down, watching your pussy throb around him unknowingly, the slick that was once pooling by your folds now running down your thighs, both of your juices mixed together as one. he brings a hand up to your thigh, caressing it gently and watching it shake in response.

“you want to cum, hmm?” a touch that would typically be soothing is only creating more pain and anguish for you. you want nothing more than to shut your eyes and roll your head back, but you refrain, knowing that your obedience right now is crucial to ensuring you get what you want.

“yes i do, i really do. please. show me mercy, jungkook.” you words stir something inside of him, something that he’s been suppressing until now.

he removes his hand from your thigh and instead brings it around to the front of your throat, watching your face contort as he tightens his grip.

“be careful what you wish for.” are his final words before he’s fucking you inhumanely. he’s almost animalistic as he thrusts into you deeper than you even thought was possible. if it wasn’t for the hand around your neck you’d surely be doubled over on the sink’s counter by now, or screaming at the top of your lungs. but fortunately, his restriction on your throat is making that nearly impossible, only allowing hushed squeals to escape your mouth.

“this is what you fucking asked for baby. take it.” he growls, watching as you struggle for air.

“you’re awfully quiet now, love. can’t talk?” his teasing only brings you closer to the edge, the restriction around your throat burning in the most beautiful way as you feel your high approaching again, the knot in your stomach tightening faster than you had time to prepare for, and before you know it, you’re seeing stars.

jungkook watches as you come undone around his cock, your face perfectly contorting into a piece of art before him as you squirt and cream around his cock. the tightening of your walls almost pushing him out of you. he groans loudly at the sight before him watching as you come down from your high.

“god you’re a fucking slut. you just squirt on random dudes at the bar like a dumb whore?” his thrusts are starting to become messy as he feels his high approaching, but not fast enough to leave you an overstimulated mess.

you push his hand away from your throat, gasping for air and words as you begin to plead and beg for him to stop. “too much, t-too much.” is all you’re able to get out as he brings his hand between your thighs to rub on your clit harshly.

“can’t take it? i did warn you.” his thrusts speed up even more, watching as you squirm and writhe at the overstimulation.

“ahh, n-no, j-jungkook.” watching you cry out underneath him only pushes him over the edge too, burying deep into you as he fills you up completely, his hips stalling out when he feels the tension in his abdomen has finally released.

he removes his hand from your clit and brings it up to your mouth, ignoring your protests and forcing you to lick it clean.

“good girl. that’s a good girl.” he praises, his other hand going up to the side of your head to brush your hair down gently, trying to tame it as best as he can.

you’re completely warn out, oblivious to the mess you made of not only yourself, but of the bathroom. you forgot how often you come here, probably should’ve went outside at least.

jungkook pulls out of you carefully, doing his best not to spill too much of his load from your already dripping cunt. he leans down, admiring his masterpiece before retrieving some tissues and wiping you up as best as he can.

“are you okay? i apologize, i can get really into it sometimes.” his voice is gentler now, calm, almost like nothing ever happened. he barely looks affected by the encounter at all.

“im more than okay.” your voice sounds borderline distraught compared to him, wishing you could remove the embarrassment of knowing how much that interaction affected you. it’s unlike you to have hookups, especially with a man you’ve just met.

he chuckles at your response, finishing his tidying before bringing himself back up to look at you, taking your chin in his hand and carefully examining your neck to make sure there’s no bruising.

“im fine, trust me. im a big girl.” you blush under his intense gaze. you’ll definitely feel the aftermath of your interaction tomorrow, but that was for your future self to worry about.

he smiles down at you before pinching your cheek cutely. “you sure are.”

#bts #bts jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook

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springismss · 3 months ago

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ᱬ ࣪𖤐 final thoughts of rockstar fiancé! sukuna - leaving the content of this one a surprise!

final continuation of rockstar! sukuna thoughts.

ageless/minors dni. 18+ content below. not limited to fingering, p in v, implied multiple rounds. f! reader.

as always, reblogs/likes are always appreciated! enjoy! ᱬ ࣪𖤐

part 3 word count: 2.5k | series word count: 4.9k

links: jjk masterlist | masterlist | part 1 | part 2

rockstar fiancé! sukuna who’s become softer thanks to the time he spent with you. of course he’d only show his softer side when you’re around or when he thinks no one’s looking cause no one would ever catch him being soft and get away with it.

rockstar fiancé! sukuna who watches you throw yourself headfirst into wedding planning. everything has to be perfect and what you had planned, even he was surprised but couldn’t help but smile because it was so you and who was he to stop you?

rockstar fiancé! sukuna who’s stopped planning tours and being in the studio because you’re both so close to being married. nothing and no one was going to take him away from the final moments before you’re both stuck with the other for the rest of your lives.

rockstar fiancé! sukuna who’s more aware of the paparazzi presence when you’re both out and about that’s he takes it upon himself to make sure they’re not able to get any photos of you both. he’ll take any measures to make damn sure of that. wearing the same clothes as past times? check. anti-paparazzi clothing? check.

rockstar fiancé! sukuna who is completely lost when it comes to suit shopping. who knew that shopping for something that he’d wear on one of the biggest days of his life was so damn hard? he had to drag his nephew, football player! yuji, with him just to help him pick something out.

rockstar fiancé! sukuna who helps you with the final touches of the intimate wedding you’ve planned, it’s not that you don’t want your fans to know you’re married, but it’s because you’ve got an idea in mind to let them know once you’ve spent some time together once the wedding is over.

rockstar fiancé! sukuna who, on his stag night, keeps an eye on what he drinks because he wants to return to you in one piece and not end up tied to the lamppost like he keeps seeing while about. let’s face it though, no one would ever try, football player! yuji got close but he slipped away at the last second.

rockstar fiancé! sukuna who checks his phone to see if you messaged him while out on your hen night, seeing the odd text from your best friend/bandmate who keeps him updated on how you’re doing - totally not dropping you in it when they tell him you’ve sobbed for half an hour because you’re drunk and you miss him.

rockstar fiancé! sukuna who’s teases you about that night for a few days afterwards, much to his amusement and your embarrassment. of course you know he means it out of love so you let him off for now. you’d get your own back on him soon enough.

rockstar fiancé! sukuna who’s posting, almost daily, photos of you two to his own personal insta, capturing moments that he loves the most of you, of you counting down the days until you’re both married.

rockstar fiancé! sukuna who, on the night before you’re meant to spend time away from him, goes all out with snacks, a takeaway and your favourite show just so he can help calm not only your nerves but his as well - people would think he’d spend that night ruining you but he’ll save that for the wedding night. after all, his soon-to-be wife needs all her strength.

rockstar fiancé! sukuna who, after saying goodbye to you the day after, spends most of the time sending random texts to you - photos he sees, videos/posts he likes, because you’re sure to like them and not because the idiot misses having you with him. he feels like you’re off touring again.

rockstar fiancé! sukuna who, when it finally arrives to the day he’s going to marry you is a bag of nerves - the way he felt when he asked you out or to marry him pales in comparison to how he feels right now. hell, he’ll even take being on stage for the first time over this feeling right now. he honestly feels like he could throw up.

rockstar fiancé! sukuna who fiddles with his fingers while he stares towards the back of the church, not daring to turn around for fear that he might pass out. was it too hot in here all of a sudden?

rockstar fiancé! sukuna who bites his lips before letting out a breath as he turns around the moment he hears the music play as you walk down the aisle. he swears he’s forgotten how to breathe at the sight of you. you’re a picture of beauty and he can’t believe you’re about to be his wife in a matter of moments. is someone cutting onions in here?

rockstar fiancé! sukuna who becomes a stuttering mess when he’s tasked with speaking his vows, the feeling of your thumb running across his knuckles to calm him down working slowly. you had little ways of making sure he was feeling confident no matter what and this was one of them.

rockstar fiancé! sukuna who becomes rockstar husband! sukuna once the priest states he can kiss his bride. he’s never pulled you to him so quickly until now, dipping you in a loving kiss as cheers sound behind you both.

rockstar husband! sukuna who spends the entire time of the reception whispering what he’s going to do to you when he gets you alone in the honeymoon suite of the hotel you were both going back to. chuckling deeply at how you stammer and blush when you push his shoulder, offering your own giggle.

rockstar husband! sukuna who tunes everyone out when you’re both sharing your first dance together, his arms wrapped around your waist with your around his neck, mouth close to your ear as he sings along for you and only you to hear. you missed hearing him sing to you for the past month. that much so you felt the weight of the world fall off your shoulders as you closed your eyes.

rockstar husband! sukuna who’s quick to pull you away from the guests and back to the hotel room. he feels like he’s waited too damn long to be alone with you and you being in your dress, it’s not helping his thoughts of ruining you until you’re a sobbing mess.

rockstar husband! sukuna who wastes no time hiking your dress up to your hips once he’s got you bent over the bed, slipping your wedding night lingerie to the side as he sinks two fingers deep into your welcoming pussy.

rockstar husband! sukuna who, despite wanting nothing more than having you writhing beneath him, takes his time stretching out your walls enjoying the sounds you make, begging him to stop teasing you and fuck you. your warm core clenching around his digits before you feel the cold of his wedding ring against you.

rockstar husband! sukuna who soon grows impatient, leaving you whimpering for a moment before you feel his fingers being replaced by his cock, earning a moan of delight as you grip the sheets underneath you.

rockstar husband! sukuna who loves the sound of you moaning his name as you push yourself back into him, his hand coming around your neck to lift you up against his chest, his other hand coming to rest just under your navel as he pushes into you harder with each thrust. he loved the feeling of you wriggling as you tried to match his thrusts.

rockstar husband! sukuna who fucks you on every surface in the hotel room that he can, clothes scattered all over the floor much like the marks on both your bodies. he may or may not go multiple times on different surfaces.

rockstar husband! sukuna who finishes with his favourite position of all - the lotus. he loves the way he can feel closer than close to you this way, and how he can reach deeper inside you, making you lose your mind as you come on his cock, walls milking him closer to his own orgasm before he comes himself, hot seed flooding deep within you as you feel him twitching.

rockstar husband! sukuna who cuddles you closer to him when you’ve both had enough, breath returning to normal along with drumming heartbeats. his hand drawing patterns on your skin as you fall asleep, a soft smile on your face.

rockstar husband! sukuna who never thought, in a million years, he’d be laying in bed with his new wife but here he was. if somebody had told his younger self that’s where he’d be right now, he’d have laughed in their face and told them to fuck off - he was always a solo player who would never settle down, at least he had you to thank for changing that.

rockstar husband! sukuna who spends the next few weeks away on honeymoon with you, away from prying eyes, watching the way your face lights up as you both take photos and videos, posting to your personal instas for your close friends to see. comments and likes of encouragement making you both smile.

rockstar husband! sukuna who, when you’re both ready to let the rest of the world you’re married, makes sure everything’s perfect, even flying out to the only location you both know would let you pull off your plan and favourite announcement to date.

rockstar husband! sukuna who mirrors a post put up by you a day after you land and head to the chapel, making sure to capture all the moments you both needed to thanks to photographer! uraume. the polaroids were definitely the favourite part of your announcement as they had a little something extra special you wanted everyone to know.

rockstar husband! sukuna who presses post to his public insta with the photos you both decided would be best to announce to everyone you’re finally married to the infamous bad boy. “two months on and it still feels like a fever dream. here’s to having the most kick ass-wife any fucker could ask for and the best baby momma @/itsherduh - can’t wait to start the next chapter with you”. the final photo being one he took of you that showed off your slightly swollen tummy.

rockstar husband! sukuna who, like every other time, takes a candid photo of you asleep, this time with his hand on your tummy, fingers placed gently on yours and posts it to his personal insta with the caption “can’t wait for this next chapter with you, my dove”.

rockstar husband! sukuna who’s not afraid to admit he’s scared of being a dad, he didn’t have the best life growing up and he didn’t want to fail if he could help it. who slowly feels reassured the more you comfort him - he needs to not listen to his demons so much.

rockstar husband! sukuna who makes sure you’re kept a close eye on when you go back on a short tour. after all, you were in a fragile state and he wanted to make sure you were protected more than anything, especially since he found out you were pregnant with twins. little does he know that your final tour will be the one where he finds out what your twins will be. a little surprise you couldn’t wait to pull off.

rockstar husband! sukuna who watches on from the side before joining you on stage for your final performance before you step away, putting your soon-to-be family first and getting ready to welcome your twins into the world in a few short months. who finds out, thanks to not only the crowd gathered but also your band’s stage team, that your twins are a boy and a girl.

rockstar husband! sukuna who gives you the biggest kiss he could muster at that time, he was overcome with emotions and the way both the crowd cheered and you clung onto him tipped him over the edge - lifting you up into a hug as he spun you around.

rockstar husband! sukuna who starts a small tour the week after yours had ended, only to end a month later - he wanted to be as close as possible to you as you were due to give birth soon. nothing and no one else mattered to him right now.

rockstar husband! sukuna who soon becomes rockstar twin dad! sukuna when you both welcome your babies into the world. he’s never felt as much love for you as he had done right at that moment as you held the two babies close to you.

rockstar twin dad! sukuna who makes sure that not only you but the twins were kept away from prying eyes as you both adjusted to your new lives together, making sure to announce the arrival of your children to both your fan bases with a simple polaroid of you both cradling a twin - a look of pure love showing as you smiled down at the baby in your arm. “introducing the newest members of our journey together. @/itsherduh wonder woman has fuck all on you”.

rockstar twin dad! sukuna who posts another photo to his personal insta again, this time showing you with your hair in a messy bun, his hoodie on and you cuddle your twins, a loving smile on your face. “you may think you look like shit, but your the most beautiful woman i’ve ever laid eyes on. thank you for blessing me, my dove”.

rockstar twin dad! sukuna who, despite your protests that you’re a mess and he’d be better off finding someone who’s prettier because you’re disgusting, refuses to leave your side. sure your body may have changed thanks to carrying his children but he’d be damned if you think he’s going to be in the arms of someone else.

rockstar twin dad! sukuna who helps you through your moments of self-doubt when it comes to what you’re doing for not only the twins but how you feel about yourself. who spends time showering you with love and affection, wiping tears of self-doubt away as he holds you in his arms.

rockstar twin dad! sukuna who reminds you daily, hell hourly if needed, that he loves you regardless of how you look, that you’re more beautiful to him because of what you’ve gone through. who, when you’re pinned beneath him in the throes of pleasure as he makes love to you, takes his time to kiss your stretch marks and whisper how they make you look more gorgeous than ever.

rockstar! sukuna who ultimately never thought he’d be where he was, with a wife and twins playing happy families. who looks at you with so much love and devotion when you’re around him. who loves his twins more than life itself. who’ll show you all off and spoil you all rotten at every given opportunity.

rockstar! sukuna who thanks whatever divine being out there for letting him be the one who stole your heart, and vice versa, from the moment you saw each other backstage at your concert all the time ago. for being the one you fell deeper in love with and for being the one who he can spend the rest of his life with.

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